


circus of crows

by KnightofBlood888, viscrael



Series: monsterverse au [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Angst, Blood Drinking, Brief Underage Drinking, Consensual Possession, Eventual Happy Ending, Ghosts, M/M, Monsters, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, also this is gonne end up p convoluted so brace urselves, everyone turns into shivering chihuahuas at some point, monster mafia, so many instances of kidnapping, the kagehina is SO slowburn im so sorry, this gets p dark ngl, vampire gangs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 173,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightofBlood888/pseuds/KnightofBlood888, https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscrael/pseuds/viscrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hinata Shouyou had believed in ghosts for as long as he could remember.<br/>This was less of a superstition thing, and more a fact-of-life thing. Ghosts were as clear to him as anything else in his life was. The list of Things Shouyou Knows For Sure went like this:</p>
<p>1.	Shouyou was fifteen.<br/>2.	Shouyou was an orphan.<br/>3.	Shouyou was being haunted.</p>
<p>alternatively titled: in which hinata, a shapeshifter being haunted by a dead witch, joins the circus and ultimately causes Everything To Go Wrong</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ABOUT THIS AU:**
> 
> this is based off of an original story ive been working on for three-ish (?) years now, albeit with a LOT of things changed, considering the characters in my story are significantly different than any of hq's characters. its a clusterfuck of ....a lot of different things, and a work in progress for sure, but im writing this along with simone (knightofblood888) as a way to sort of test-run my original story. 
> 
> **this fic will include** : ghosts, witches, seers, vampires, werewolves, rituals, possession, shapeshifters, gods, circuses, underground networks, vampire gangs, shady pasts, eventually a lot of blood, gays, hinata having No sense of danger, monster racism and segregation, and more! so. if yr interested in any of that, stay tuned!

“Daichi.”

The word came from behind him, but he didn’t turn around to respond. He nodded, once, slowly, and then another time. His hands were still shaking. He swallowed thickly.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

He made no effort to step around the blood he knew was beneath him. Thinking about it made him nauseous. Refusing to recognize it was there was juvenile and naïve at best, but his hands were still shaking, and he didn’t miss the pitying looks he received from his friends, the crease in their eyebrows and the silence that fell upon them. They followed him obediently, not asking questions. He heard the way they fell into line behind him easily, even now.

Sawamura Daichi had made sure they fled from the scene as quickly as possible, a knot in his throat keeping him from peace, the tremble in his palms a heavy weight at his side. No one dared to say anything—not as they fled, and not as they were forced to stop for Asahi to dry-heave on the side of the road. They were still covered in blood, only half of which was theirs. The scene they had witnessed was burned into the back of Daichi’s eyelids. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing it.

The words spoken to them as they ran still floated in the air around them, a dead weight keeping their mouths clamped shut.

_“I’m not letting you go._ ”

Daichi knew it wasn’t a threat. And so they ran.

Sugawara put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. It did what it was meant to—for a moment at least. But then he was back to the pit of dread in his stomach and the road ahead of them.

“It wasn’t our fault,” Suga had said, but it was a lie, and not a very good one at that. He was trying, at the very least, to make the situation lean less heavily on them. But the matter of fact was that they had a seer’s death on their hands, and it wasn’t going to be taken lightly.

Eventually, they would pay.

_I’m not letting you go._

\--

It was quiet.

A moment ago, everything had been chaos—whirring noise, stomping feet, hissing and yelling and screaming curses as if that would help, the sound of the wind louder than anything, drowning out their frightened noises and the shock that followed. The sky was dark. The stars had disappeared behind dense clouds, despite the forecast for clear skies.

The moon was full tonight.

It made everything an eerie kind of peaceful. The wind had calmed, as if giving him a moment of silence, as if letting him think would help, as if pulling the clouds across the night sky in a slow waltz made it dark enough to be blind to what had happened.

And like everything else, the noise stopped. It left nothing but the dead quiet, marred only by Kuroo Tetsurou’s ragged breathing.

When he looked down, the body he’d been cradling was limp, the pale hand in his cold and covered in blood. He was washed in it as well, but he could no longer tell to whom it belonged. He could hardly make out the retreating footsteps of those who had done this—and then they were gone.

He was alone.

It was quiet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is just the prologue, hence why is so short in length :0 all the other chapters r gonna b reasonably sized)


	2. a lot of me was lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans weren’t supposed to be able to see or talk to ghosts. That was a job for witches, seers, necromancers, demigods on occasion—but not humans. Kenma was polite to never bring up this fact to him, either because he didn’t think it important or because he was saving Shouyou grief, and so with no one to consult about his problem, and no prior knowledge of anything other than human, Shouyou assumed it was normal.
> 
> This was naïve of him, but he was nothing if not naïve.
> 
> \--
> 
> there be ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnnd heres the first official chapter!! 
> 
> **warnings for** : some mentions of depersonalization and brief self harm (its one scene :0)
> 
> from here on out we'll probably be updating once every two-ish (?) weeks, depending on schedules and such. school is a Hassle lmao so theres no strict updating sched for this like for my other fics (espesh bc the chapters for this r at least twice the length of my other multichap fic's) but hopefully itll get into a groove! 
> 
> chapter titles are going to be from holding on to you (by 21p)
> 
> (we talk abt this au [ on tumblr ](http://calliopin-around.tumblr.com/tagged/mv-au) sometimes btw)

Hinata Shouyou had believed in ghosts for as long as he could remember.

This was less of a superstition thing, and more a fact-of-life thing. Ghosts weren’t ifs and maybes and hypotheticals. They weren’t scary stories to tell your friends at night or legends to attract tourists to centuries-old houses. They weren’t _if you believe_ s. Ghosts were as clear to him as anything else in his life was. The list of Things Shouyou Knows For Sure went like this:

 

  1. Shouyou was fifteen.
  2. Shouyou was an orphan.
  3. Shouyou was being haunted.



 

The haunting wasn’t new by any means. In fact, he didn’t have any still remaining memories that weren’t covered in the background of his ghost, the barely-there chill that was always at his side, the fog that sometimes seemed to follow him. He’d found that ghosts—or at least his—were quiet, almost unnoticeable things. It was no wonder that no one else ever seemed to see the figure of a boy trailing behind him, stuck in permanent adolescence with a cloud of smoke at his side.

When he was younger, he’d wondered why he was the only one who ever acknowledged the boy, why people gave him looks when they found him supposedly talking to himself.

“Stop that, Shouyou,” adults would scold, “people will get the wrong idea about you.”

(That was always the threat: _people will get the wrong idea about you_. At an orphanage with a hundred other children all competing to get adopted, people getting _the wrong idea_ was the worst thing that could happen to him. “No one will want you,” went unsaid, but the sentiment got across pretty well anyway.)

And because Shouyou was young, and because it hadn’t been drilled into his brain yet that asking questions was a Bad Thing, he one day asked his ghost why he was the only one who seemed capable of seeing him.

“I’m dead,” had been the answer, as if that was obvious.

Shouyou had blinked at him.

“Are you?”

His ghost looked away to stare at his hands in a way that looked very much alive to Shouyou. “Of course I am. At least—“ He stopped, as if suddenly unsure, and frowned. “At least I think I am.”

“How can you not know if you’re dead or not?”

He only shrugged.

Like Shouyou said: quiet, unnoticeable things. “Well, you look alive to me.”

“…Thank you.”

An odd response to an odd observation. Shouyou couldn’t blame him.

His ghost’s name was Kenma. It felt odd, finding that out, like introducing yourself to your sibling, because Kenma had been with him since—forever. Shouyou had never needed to introduce himself, because Kenma already knew by virtue of haunting him. But Shouyou hadn’t known for a long time what Kenma’s name was, not until he was eight or nine. It had never occurred to him that ghosts even _had_ names until then.

“Only Kenma?” was what he’d said in response to the information. “Don’t you have a family name too?”

“I don’t remember it.” The words were quiet. He had a soft voice; something that sounded like leaves rustling in the wind, or wind chimes, maybe.

“Oh…Well, ‘Kenma’ suits you anyway!”

And that had been the end of that.

Humans weren’t supposed to be able to see or talk to ghosts. That was a job for witches, seers, necromancers, demigods on occasion—but not humans. Kenma was polite to never bring up this fact to him, either because he didn’t think it important or because he was saving Shouyou grief, and so with no one to consult about his problem, and no prior knowledge of anything other than human, Shouyou assumed it was normal.

This was naïve of him, but he was nothing if not naïve.

 

\--

 

Technically speaking, the two didn’t start acknowledging each other until Shouyou was eight.

Not because Kenma wasn’t there _to_ acknowledge, but because he was quiet. He probably would’ve been content with spending the rest of his days haunting Shouyou in silence, companionable or otherwise. Whether this was nature of the dead or nature of Kenma, Shouyou wasn’t sure.

But one day, it struck Shouyou that he knew nothing about the other boy, which seemed odd to him, considering their situation.

And so he started asking questions.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Was that how old you were when you died?”

A nod. Half of Kenma’s responses were always silent.

“Do all ghosts haunt people? Do all people become ghosts when they die?”

“I don’t know.”

“How come I’m the only one who can talk to you?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Do you remember anything from before you died?”

This one earned him a pause. Kenma stayed quiet for a moment, his form flickering in and out of existence the way he seemed to do when he was thinking, whether purposefully or otherwise. It was always odd to watch, like one of those holographic cards that change images as you move it.

“A little,” he finally answered. And because it seemed that Shouyou was expecting more of an explanation, he continued, “I was…a witch.”

“You weren’t human?”

(Not that not being human was an uncommon occurrence—because it wasn’t, not by a long shot. But for Shouyou, who had grown up in an all-human area with all-human caregivers, it had never occurred to him that his ghost could’ve been a monster before he’d died.)

Kenma shook his head. “I was a witch. And my friend…” He stopped and frowned again.

Noticing Kenma’s unease with how the conversation was going, Shouyou changed the topic. “How long have you been dead?”

“I don’t remember. A while.”

And so it continued.

The upside to having Kenma around was that Shouyou was never alone. For some people, this could’ve been a negative thing, but he wasn’t prone to being by himself, and lengthy silences made him antsy. Because of that, he was talkative—loud, always commenting even when it wasn’t necessary, because he _needed_ to fill a silence, hated it when it wasn’t. With Kenma there, he had someone to talk to, someone to make him feel less isolated, even if the boy didn’t respond.

This only got worse as he got older, but it got easier to fill gaps with something—his iPod playing out loud as he read, tapping on desks, humming to himself, the TV in the lobby left permanently on if he could get away with it, the window open to hear the rush of cars on the busy street in front of their building. When other people weren’t around, he talked to Kenma, told him stories about his day or just chattered about something he liked or didn’t like or was having trouble with. Sometimes Kenma would help him with his homework, if he asked enough.

The downside to having Kenma around was that Shouyou didn’t have any friends at the orphanage besides him. Kids caught on to the way he always looked past them at something that wasn’t there, the way he talked to no one, played with someone he claimed they just couldn’t see. As excitable and friendly as Shouyou was, they didn’t like him. He caught on eventually, and got good at pretending Kenma wasn’t there in the presence of others, but his reputation preceded him.

And so he was alone.

 

\--

 

Things got worse with puberty.

Kenma didn’t change—Kenma was, if nothing else, a stability, the one constant in Shouyou’s life that he could count on no matter what. No, no, Kenma didn’t change, but Shouyou did, more and more as days passed, twelve to thirteen to fourteen to fifteen, until it got difficult to recognize himself in the mirror anymore.

It wasn’t that he was _actually_ changing all that much, at least not anymore than a human’s puberty would change anyway, but he noticed things now. Out of the corner of his eye, glimpses of things, glances at his hands wherein he thought they were bear paws, waking up in the morning feeling like a snake whose skin was getting ready to shed, shirts that fit too loose and too tight at the same time. His eyes were too big, his hands were too small, his legs gangly and awkward, and even worse—he could see it, sometimes. Blood on matted fur that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Invisible wings growing out of his back. Scales where his legs used to be, contorting bones and muscle regrowing itself, a lizard whose tail was cut off. His ears elongated, pointed too much at the tips, his eyes wide like an animal’s, his nose sharp like a beak.

Shouyou was somehow everything and nothing all at once.

He began avoiding mirrors, fearing that one day he would wake up and look at himself to see someone, _something_ entirely not human, entirely _other_.

Could he really be a monster? It wasn’t uncommon to only begin showing symptoms during puberty, but would they have put him in an all-human facility if they knew this would happen? What would happen if he told someone?

What would they do to him?

 

\--

 

Shouyou was, all things considered, a good kid.

He didn’t get in fights. He was loud, sure, but never rude, and he mostly stayed out of the way of other kids who’d made it clear they didn’t like him. It wasn’t that he was a pushover—it was just that some of the time, it wasn’t worth it. He tried to get along with the others as best as he could, because they’d be spending an indefinite amount of time together anyway.

Because of this, he didn’t get in trouble, not in the way the other boys did. The only time he was actually ever punished was the June he turned thirteen.

He’d looked at his hands, and they were paws—but no one else saw what he saw. His breath came out ragged as he stared at them, trying to make sense of the flesh that wasn’t his, feeling like his body wasn’t his own. His ears were ringing. It felt like his skin was being pulled too tight over his bones, muscles knotting. Could the others see this? Was everyone around him aware that he was _other,_ that he was _monster_? Was this even really him? Kenma was next to him, trying to calm him down in a quiet voice that reminded Shouyou of the wind in spring, but it wasn’t enough.

So, as a boy of impulse, he slid past one of the caretakers on his way to the kitchen, deceptively even breathing, and purposefully sliced the skin on the back of his hand with one of the kitchen knives. He had just wanted to make sure he was real, that was all. He hadn’t meant to cut that deep. He hadn’t meant to scare anyone.

The caretaker he’d passed screamed at the top of her lungs when she saw the blood. Was that even his blood? He wasn’t sure at first; everything felt strange and nothing felt real for a moment, dizzying and foggy and odd, even as Kenma’s hands (cold and ghostly and barely there) slid around his shoulders in a hug that was meant to ground him, even as he heard the noise of the other children wondering what was going on, even as he felt his own grip tighten around the handle of the knife. He hadn’t thought to put it down.

As much as he tried to keep from doing so, he couldn’t help but cry when she started yelling at him and shaking him and fussing around, making a scene as if they hadn’t already drawn enough attention to themselves. She fumbled around the room for something to clean the wound in his hand with, yanking the knife from his hand as if she was appalled he was still touching it at all. He didn’t even register the pain from the cut until she sat him down at the table and started disinfecting it.

He hissed at the pain, and she fussed at him to stop when he attempted to flex his hand; it would only open the wound more. Kenma was behind him as always, silently watching as the scene unfolded.

“That wasn’t smart, Shouyou,” he said, in a way that was both tired and sympathetic, and Shouyou would’ve said _I know_ if they had been alone. He wondered if Kenma had ever gone through this, if he’d ever hurt himself on a whim to check he was alive.

Probably not, Shouyou thought.

The woman glared at him, eyes all watery. “Jackass,” she mumbled, finishing disinfecting the cut and choosing to wrap gauze around it. They didn’t have any Band-Aids big enough to cover the wound. “Why did you do that, anyway?”

Shouyou frowned, starting to get defensive. He wasn’t _stupid_ , there had been a _reason_ for his actions! They just weren’t…apparent. “I was just—“

Kenma stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t,” he whispered, sounding worried. “You’ll only make things worse.”

Kenma had always known what to do. Shouyou trusted him, and shut his mouth after a moment. He would just have to let the woman think he was being a stupid teenager, like adults normally thought of him. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t tell anyone, and this would stay between the two of them.

He wasn’t allowed dinner for a few days, and couldn’t leave his room except for bathroom breaks and meals for a week. It got boring, but he had Kenma there to keep him company, so it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.

 

\--

 

Eventually, he got used to waking up and finding he wasn’t in his own body, got used to feeling his skin shift and his face elongate and his eyes widen. Kenma was there to reground him, pull his body back to his own.

“You’re here, Shouyou,” was what he would say, a cold hand flitting across Shouyou’s wrist, something to hold on to. “You’re real.”

Kenma had been a witch—was maybe still a witch—and was, if nothing, currently a ghost. Nothing about that screamed “human,” and so it only made sense that Shouyou would come to him about something like this, something—other. Something monster.

And so he did.

“What am I?”

The question was said into the quiet of Shouyou’s room, the lights off and the glow of the moon filtering in through the curtain. He had gotten a room to himself two years ago, after he turned thirteen; the other kids didn’t want anything to do with him, and he’d scared some of the younger ones with his spacing off. They didn’t like the way his skin looked in certain lighting, the way he talked to someone that wasn’t there. The caretakers eventually relented to the complaints and let him room alone.

At first, it had been odd, having it just be him and Kenma, but he got used to it, and even grew to enjoy it. Here, he could talk to his ghost without worry of others hearing.

Kenma didn’t make noise when he moved, but Shouyou felt the way he curled around him on the bed, cold presence at his side. Kenma didn’t need to sleep, but he liked lying down anyway, especially if Shouyou was too. Shouyou thought it maybe made him feel more alive.

“What do you mean?”

He frowned. “Like—I’m—you’ve _seen_ me, Kenma, I’m not…” He turned on his side so they were facing each other. In the dim lighting of the room, he could just barely make out the holographic form of his best friend, pale image of death. “…normal.”

“You mean you’re not a human.”

He didn’t want to say _same thing_.

But. Well.

“Not being human is normal,” Kenma said, when Shouyou didn’t respond. He sounded almost disappointed.

It made guilt bubble up in Shouyou’s stomach for insinuating, to a monster no less, that humans were the norm. He didn’t really think that, but—it was scary. It was scary to think he was something apart from everyone else he’d grown up with, to think he was alone and different and not who he thought he was.

Logically, he knew he wasn’t alone, and he knew there were plenty of others like him, but it was difficult to consciously realize that when the only person he had like that was Kenma.

(What was it like, being a monster? What was it like, outside of his orphanage, outside of his humans-only school, where he had to face the reality of being a part of a group that was treated—less? Would they kick him out of the orphanage? Would he change schools? Would people treat him differently, would they look down on him?

What was it like?)

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Kenma nodded in unvoiced acceptance of his apology, and curled closer to him on the bed. Shouyou wondered briefly if ghosts could get cold.

“Okay.”

They were both silent for a moment, the only noise between them Shouyou’s breathing and the wind outside; it was supposed to storm tonight, but the sky was deceptively cloud-less. It was a full moon.

Once the silence got to be too much to bear as it often did, Shouyou said, “You admit that I’m not a human, though?”

“You’re not,” he agreed.

This, surprisingly, brought him barely any reaction at all. Or, maybe it wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d suspected for a long time now that that was the case. It wasn’t much different to have his fears confirmed.

“Then what am I?”

Kenma paused for a long moment, image flickering. Then: “A shapeshifter.”

“A—a _shapeshifter?!_ ”

“Someone will hear you,” he chastised gently.

“But I’m—“ Shouyou sat up. “You think I’m a _shapeshifter_?”

“It makes the most sense.” Kenma looked away, like he didn’t want attention on him as he explained, but they were still facing one another. “Your body is probably responding to your emotions, shifting without you controlling it. And shapeshifters don’t show signs until puberty.”

“I—…”

He thought back on all the times he’d glanced at his hands to see they weren’t his, all the times he’d woken up feeling smaller or bigger or like his bones were realigning himself, the way the episodes increased when he was angry or the way they lasted longer when he was anxious.

It made sense.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” he whispered, without little wonder. The word tasted foreign on his tongue, scary, almost, but…nice. It was nice, to finally have something about himself figured out. To have a name for it.

The list of Things Shouyou Knows For Sure went like this:

 

  1. Shouyou was fifteen.
  2. Shouyou was an orphan.
  3. Shouyou was being haunted.
  4. Shouyou was a shapeshifter.



 

\--

 

Knowing what it was didn’t stop the episodes, unfortunately.

In fact, they only seemed to get worse. As the year went on and fall rolled around, Shouyou was losing more and more control over himself during the episodes, to the point where sometimes he hardly remembered what had happened during them at all.

He never got adopted, but he had a few different foster parents in his life. Every time, they would decide that he was too much, too loud or too odd, his episodes too frequent, his voice too annoying. He was too much to deal with, and he knew it, even if some of them never said so right out.

Despite this, he went into every new chance with an optimistic attitude—things would be different. This family would be different; he would act different. That’s just how he was. Optimistic and naïve.

November of his fifteenth year, a family of two—a wife and a husband—took him in. They had a well-sized apartment, a dog that liked Shouyou and liked Kenma even more, and a good high school nearby that he could attend if they adopted him, part of a good education system and located in a good, safe part of town with good, safe humans. He was looking forward to it, even if he hadn’t gotten off on the right foot with the husband, even if the wife made him a little nervous.

But this time, it didn’t end well.

He couldn’t remember, afterwards, all of what he had done, nor could he remember entirely _why_ he had done it. He only remembered loud conversation at the dinner table, a comment made by the husband that had upset him and an agreeing nod from the wife, until it was anger, a tingling in the tips of his fingers like fire, the sound of Kenma warning him to _calm down_ , _it’s okay, Shouyou, you’re okay_ , _let it go,_ until Kenma’s voice grew fuzzy and different and he felt like he was going to pass out.

The next thing he knew, he tasted blood.

 

\--

 

_“Different…not safe…teeth…is this how you treat all of them?...Other children’s safety…”_

_“If you…calm down, he’s not—“_

_“I will_ not _calm down! He could have killed…_ bit _him…”_

Shouyou hid further behind the pillar, careful they wouldn’t see him while he listened in. Most of the words were spoken too quietly for him to hear, but he could pick out his previous foster mother’s voice and the unease, the anger in it, and most of all, the fear.

The realization that she was afraid of him was not an easy one.

_“Transfer…”_

Next to him, Kenma shook his head minutely. It was nearing December. Outside, it was raining heavily, drowning out the voices from the foyer beneath him, the wind shaking the trees. The balcony overlooking the entrance to the orphanage had always been a good place to eavesdrop, convenient with its pillars to hide behind, the staircase’s railing even more so. The other kids had done it many times before when visitors came, waiting to see who would get adopted, if any of them. Shouyou had joined in on it a few times, but now, he was alone.

The other kids had heard the news quickly. They were afraid of him, too, just like the wife.

(But Shouyou couldn’t blame them. After all, he’d nearly killed someone.)

“It wasn’t your fault, Shouyou,” Kenma said, putting a hand on his. He’d been gripping the railing so tightly that his knuckles were bleached, and now, he forced himself to relax under the touch. The lie didn’t relax him, but it was always nice when Kenma made an effort to comfort him, even if the circumstances for when he did were never ideal.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” he whispered. The voices had dulled, until it was only an unintelligible murmur, words blending together until they meant nothing.

Kenma paused for a moment, and then nodded.

“What are they saying?”

“The lady thinks you’re a monster,” he said. “And she’s threatening to sue, if you aren’t transferred to a different location…”

Shouyou’s blood ran cold. Three years of hiding who he was, and they’d found out anyway. _Stupid_. Of course they’d find out eventually. It was never a matter of _if_ , but _when._ His luck had finally run out.

He swallowed. “O-oh, right…”

Kenma frowned. “It won’t be so bad,” he mumbled. “Monsters aren’t…so bad.”

“I know they aren’t.” Shouyou didn’t voice the rest of the sentence, but he thought maybe Kenma knew anyway. _It’s not them I’m worried about_.

The voices below quieted, until they were gone completely, and then the front door slammed shut. Taking this as his cue to leave, Shouyou got up from where he was crouched, not waiting to see if Kenma was following, and sprinted to his room, shutting the door as quietly behind him as he could.

He had just gotten into bed and pulled the covers over himself when there was a knock on his door. He didn’t respond.

The door creaked open. “Shouyou. We need to talk.”

Kojima was the orphanage’s director. She wasn’t much, but she was nice enough, if not a little strict with the other kids, and she was always gentle with Shouyou when she could be. He’d always liked her before, but now—now he wished nothing more than for her to go away. _Leave me alone_.

Under the covers, he couldn’t see the look Kenma threw him, pitying and worried and empathetic all the same. Sometimes, it seemed like Kenma understood how he felt better than Shouyou himself did. He tried not to dwell on it.

“Please, Shouyou, I know you aren’t asleep. We need to talk.”

Hesitantly, he shifted, and then pulled himself up from under the covers. He didn’t meet her eyes, even as he sat up and crossed his legs and said, “I’m being transferred.”

She sighed. If she was surprised that he already knew, she didn’t let on. She’d probably spotted him eavesdropping on their conversation anyway.

“You are. I’m sorry—I tried talking to her, but you know we can’t deal with a lawsuit right now, and we’re lucky that that was _all_ she threatened…”

Right. The orphanage had been low on funding recently. His former foster mother suing would cost them the facility.

The choice was obvious: a useless boy or the orphanage?

He looked to Kenma, but his ghost said nothing.

“Am I being transferred to—“ He cut himself off. It was one thing to hear it from Kenma, and another entirely to hear it from Kojima.

“It’s for monsters, yes,” she answered, even though he couldn’t finish the question. Her voice was gentle, like she was trying her hardest not to upset him, to make it easier on him. It didn’t help.

“…Yeah. Okay.”                                             

She was silent for a moment. “We’ll pack your things tomorrow, and I’ll—we’ll drive up the day after.” Kojima stood up, patting his leg comfortingly in a way he thought was supposed to be motherly. “For now, though, get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

That was an understatement if he’d ever heard one.

“Okay,” he said again. Kenma put a hand on his.

Kojima stopped with her hand on the doorknob, opening her mouth as if to ask something, and then thinking better of it. After another moment of silence, she finally said, “How long were you going to keep it from us?”

He didn’t have to ask what _it_ was referring to. He looked down, cheeks heating up in guilt and shame. The only answer he gave was a shrug, too embarrassed to say the truth. _Forever_.

Once she realized he wasn’t going to answer her verbally, she only offered him a mumbled, “Goodnight, then, Shouyou,” before closing the door gently behind her.

He felt the air around him shift, colder to alert him that Kenma was lying down on the bed too, mattress denting under the invisible weight of him. Shouyou pulled up the end of the cover and threw it over the both of them, until they were cocooned in warmth and pressed together.

Under the protection of his comforter, it was easier to let himself cry, and so he did. Kenma said nothing, because there was nothing to say. Instead, he brushed Shouyou’s hair away from his face in a way that Shouyou thought maybe a parent was supposed to. Even with the chill of his fingers, it was soothing.

“I’m being transferred,” he mumbled between sobs, quiet on the off chance that there was someone outside his door listening in. His lip trembled. His hands were beginning to shake. In the timespan of one day, his entire life had changed. “I’m—they know that I’m—“ _a monster_.

“Shouyou,” Kenma said, and nothing else.

They laid like that until Shouyou fell asleep, his ghost’s hands carding through his hair, pulled close in a hug with the weight of his blanket to drown out anything that wasn’t him and Kenma and the sobs that wracked his tiny, chameleon frame.

 

\--

 

The day after the next felt like they were walking him to his execution.

A few other boys had come up to him already, looking apprehensive. “Is it true?” They’d asked, wide-eyed and curious and a little smug. “Is it true that they’re _actually_ kicking you out?”

He’d floundered for a moment, unsure how to respond—his immediate reaction was to tell them that no, of course he hadn’t, but Kenma had a hand wrapped around his wrist to keep him from getting angry. He was still scared of what happened last time he’d gotten angry, still scared he’d go into an episode and never come back. He snapped his mouth shut and didn’t grace the kids with a response.

Kojima had yelled at them, telling them it was none of their business and to leave Shouyou alone, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be thankful. Did Kojima tell them he was a monster? Did any of them really know what happened, or were they just left to gossip and speculate among themselves? What would they say once he was gone, not there to confirm or deny their accusations? What fanciful story would they make up about him, the way they made up for all the other kids before him who’d left the orphanage?

Maybe they’d say he’d gotten in a huge fistfight with someone at school, or pranked the principal, or shoplifted at the mall. Maybe they’d say he wasn’t actually getting kicked out, only moving—maybe they’d say his parents had come back and, in a fit of tears, demanded to take him home as soon as possible.

Maybe they’d say he’d killed someone.

That was as close to right as they were going to get, anyway.

The day passed in a blur—getting his things together, packing what few possessions he had and the money he’d saved up from various jobs around town. It all felt more like a dream than anything, like he was watching someone else go through the motions of emptying his room of the past fifteen years, tying loose ends while the adults talked in hushed voices right outside his bedroom and the other kids gossiped over his reason for departure. Kenma didn’t say much, but the reason behind his silence was unclear. It could’ve been a number of things, none of which Shouyou felt like dwelling on.

He mostly felt tired.

But Shouyou was a boy of impulse; optimistic and naïve and impulsive, if nothing else, so when they made one last call for him to run inside and check to make sure he had everything, it wasn’t difficult to just never come back out. He had a little more than two hundred saved up, enough possessions to keep in a backpack, and Kenma there to guide him.

No—realistically speaking, it wasn’t difficult at all for him to run away.


	3. you can't trust me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouyou was either very confident or very, very stupid for doing this without so much as premeditation.
> 
> Or maybe he was just both.
> 
> \--
> 
> the man. he steal. and then two more steal from him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a week and two days later, heres chap 2 >:3 not too bad, considering this is relatively Plot Heavy
> 
> warnings for a guy being creepy and generally attempting to mug hinata. theres nothing graphic or anything like that, but if that bothers u, heads up!

Hinata Shouyou ran away from home when he was fifteen.

Albeit, the term “home” was being used very loosely here, because the orphanage had not been his home, not really. It was shelter, a place to rest his head, a place to return to after school and sleep at night, but it wasn’t a home.

(Shouyou wasn’t sure he knew what “home” was, anyway—just a vague idea of what it was supposed to be: a loving family and a warm house and maybe a dog or a cat, a picket fence and people that cared about you. That was what they were in books, in movies. That was what they were to other kids. He had never had that.)

Maybe that was part of why it was so easy, emotionally speaking, to run away. He hadn’t been attached to the place, and the threat of where they were taking him weighed heavier than the threat of being on his own in the real world. Shouyou was either very confident or very, very stupid for doing this without so much as premeditation.

Or maybe he was just both.

“We’ll be fine,” he’d said, after Kenma had advised that this wasn’t a good idea. He’d always listened to him, had always valued the other’s word, but this was something he couldn’t just _not_ do.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Kenma mumbled, frowning, but after that, he made no comment on the situation, not as they ran, and not as they found themselves in a town right outside their own. Shouyou had taken a train there, hoping that it would be far enough away for them not to find him. They’d probably already started looking for him by now. The sun was beginning to set.

“We can find a motel to stay at for the night.” He liked planning out loud, so that Kenma could comment or make suggestions or adjustments if need be. As it was, the ghost only nodded, agreeing that was the best way to go from there.

“Once we find somewhere to stay, I guess we’ll figure out what to do after this.”

“Do you have anything at all planned?”

Shouyou grinned. “Nope.”

“…Okay.” Kenma looked away, but didn’t say anything about Shouyou’s evident recklessness, even though Shouyou could tell he wanted to. He thought this whole plan was stupid—and maybe he was right, but it wasn’t an option to go back now. All Shouyou had to look forward to was another house that wasn’t a home, and the shame and guilt of knowing now that everyone knew.

“I probably won’t be able to get a job,” he said into the silence that fell between them. They were trotting along the sidewalk, keeping an eye out for any motels they could find; the city was foreign and large and much too much for two small boys.  “Since I’m so young, no one’ll hire me, and most places don’t hire ‘til sixteen anyway. And I’m not old enough to get a permanent place or anything…” He frowned. “Aren’t there, like, shelters and places set up for this? You know, runaways and stuff that need somewhere to go? Homeless shelters?”

Kenma shrugged. “I think so, but I don’t know of any.”

“Dammit!” Shouyou groaned, but he kept his eyes trained ahead of them, not wanting any passerbys to see him looking at Kenma. “This would be so much easier if I had a phone…”

“We passed a library a little while ago.”

“So?”

The other glanced at him as they sidestepped someone walking in the opposite direction. That was another annoying thing about being a ghost, Shouyou guessed; you were always stepping out of the living’s way. “They have computers there you can use.”

“Right!” Shouyou smiled, feeling a little better. “You’re a genius, Kenma! We’ll go there tomorrow, after we’ve slept.”

“Don’t be so loud,” he chastised, but it sounded almost fond. “We’re in public.”

It was unfortunate that Shouyou was the one who enjoyed talking the most out of the two, because he was the one that everyone else could hear. He nodded and mimed zipping his mouth shut. “Then it’s settled! We’ll go from there!”

“There isn’t a point to zipping your mouth shut if you talk immediately after,” Kenma said, but he almost sounded amused.

Shouyou opened his mouth to respond, but forgot what he was going to say when his eyes fell on a building behind Kenma. “That’s so cool!”

The other boy turned around to look where Shouyou was pointing; a couple hundred feet way from them sat a small church, nestled between a few other equally as small buildings, and looking very gothic, and very warm. With the setting of the sun came dropping temperatures, and Shouyou was very much interested in checking out a closed, roofed building.

“Let’s go there!” He looked at Kenma excitedly. “Churches are supposed to take in homeless people and stuff, right? That’s perfect!”

“Shouyou,” Kenma said, “I’m a ghost.”

“…So?”

They looked at each other for a moment.

Eventually, Kenma lowered his eyes and sighed gently, already beginning to make his way towards the building. “Okay.”

 

\--

 

That night, as he was lying on dark pews and using his backpack as a pillow, Shouyou said, “Kenma?”

“Mm?” Said boy was leaning back against the pew, looking at the high ceiling of the church like he wasn’t sure what to make of it. The whole place seemed to have made him antsy; he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the ceiling and the stained glass windows since they got there, and every noise made him jump. His hands laid in his lap, alternating between ghostly flickering and very alive flesh.

“Maybe…we shouldn’t have come here,” Shouyou whispered, and when the other looked at him, he dropped his eyes to the floor guiltily.

“What do you mean?”

“It was kind of stupid to bring a _spirit_ into, like, a place of worship. And you don’t look very happy.” He frowned. “Or at all comfortable.”

“You’re comfortable,” Kenma said, in obvious defense.

“That doesn’t matter if you aren’t too. And—besides, it’s—it was my idea in the first place, wasn’t it? You know, to leave and everything. You kept telling me not to, but I wouldn’t listen to you and…” He looked at the ceiling too. “I’m sorry.”

Kenma was silent for a long moment. In the quiet of the church, they looked at the ceiling together, the only noise between them Shouyou’s breathing. Any sound reverberated around the room, leaving an imprint of their existence. Even though no one else was there, Shouyou felt like he had to whisper when talking. Anything else would’ve felt disrespectful, if not invasive.

Finally, Kenma said, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not—“

“It’s over now.” He shifted where he sat, pulling his knees up to his chest and lowering his eyes to the altar at the head of the room. “We can’t do anything about it. Just sleep, or you won’t have energy for tomorrow.”

Shouyou looked at him: a holographic, fleeting thing. When he concentrated, he could see the remnants of what Kenma used to look like—golden eyes, a slender nose, blonde hair to his shoulders and dark roots. He wondered if, in life, Kenma had dyed his hair, and then he wondered if that was what he looked like when he died, or if he had changed his appearance by will as a ghost.

It wasn’t easy to forget that Kenma had been eighteen, young, with a life ahead of him. He’d had friends, and a family, and maybe a girlfriend or something, and he’d been in high school, probably, or just starting college. He’d had potential.

In the quiet of the church, Shouyou wondered, not for the first time, what had killed Kenma at all.

“Okay,” he said, once he realized how long the pause had been. “I’ll sleep, but I have a question before I do.”

There was a pause, like Kenma wasn’t sure what to make of the request, and then a confirming nod.

Shouyou continued, “I know you said you don’t remember much from your life before you passed, but you wouldn’t happen to have any…still living friends or something that we could…?”

Kenma looked apologetic, something he rarely seemed to be. “No. I don’t remember.”

“Ah, right. Sorry for asking, then.” He smiled, and rolled over on his side, so he was facing the back of the pew. “Goodnight, Kenma.”

“Goodnight, Shouyou,” was whispered in response, so quiet it almost got whisked away by the sound of his breathing.

 

\--

 

Kenma shook him awake in the morning when the sun was still rising.

“Shouyou,” he whispered, “wake up.”

“A few more minutes, Ken’…”

“Shouyou, there are people coming.”

He shot up so quickly that his head spun. “What?! Where?!”

Shouyou could hear talking right outside the entrance to the door. Just as he was sitting up and gathering his things as quickly as possible, the door creaked under the weight of being opened, and a man along with what looked to be a priest stepped in. Shouyou didn’t know much about religion or religious people, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to get in any trouble with them.

He hid behind the pews and waited until they weren’t looking before slipping out again, Kenma on his heels and heavy door slamming. He winced at the noise, but didn’t turn around to see if the men had paid it any mind.

“That was _close_ ,” he mumbled, the moment they were far enough away from the church for Shouyou to breathe easier. The two hadn’t said anything to each other while they were running, but now, he allowed himself to talk. This early in the morning, there weren’t any people around, so they were free to converse without fear of anyone noticing. The streets were nearly empty, and a low fog had fallen over the city.

“You woke up quickly,” Kenma commented.

“I did, didn’t I?” Shouyou smiled. “Thanks for that, by the way. I would’ve just kept sleeping until they caught me if you hadn’t woken me up!”

Kenma stared at him, and then looked down. “Let’s find the library.”

“Would they be open right now?”

He only shrugged.

Shouyou frowned. “I guess that wouldn’t hurt to try—but if they’re not open, I need to get breakfast. I’m about to starve.”

“You ate last night.”

“Hardly.”

Kenma shook his head. Shouyou wasn’t sure if he’d forgotten what it was like to be hungry as a side effect of being dead, or if he’d been like that before he’d died too.

“You don’t even _need_ to eat,” Shouyou said, already walking in what he assumed to be the direction of the library. The area was more familiar to him now, and soon enough, they were at the steps of the building, the sun having risen. By then, shops were opening and getting set up, and thankfully, the library was as well.

Shouyou was pushing the doors open when he felt Kenma stiffen and then grow cold next to him. He stopped what he was doing and turned to look at the other.

“What’s wrong?” The question was immediate, and felt very inadequate in the face of Kenma’s expression, like if he’d asked someone with an obviously broken arm, _what’s wrong?_

Kenma was shaking, looking past Shouyou at someone behind him, eyes wide and terrified in a very rare and very worrying manner. Shouyou turned around to find what was freaking him out, already thinking the worst, but found nothing he thought was inherently incriminating. This only worried him more.

“Ken,” he said, voice almost a whisper, and pulled the other’s hand into his. His skin was ice cold, even colder than normal, and his fingers, bony and unreal, shook. “What’s wrong? What are you looking at?”

He didn’t seem to recognize Shouyou for a moment, and then his eyes flickered from whatever was behind Shouyou and back to him, and he relaxed.

“That…that man,” he mumbled.

He didn’t point to anyone, but Shouyou’s eyes found whom he was talking about pretty quickly. Across the street, two men were seated at a bus stop, one looking very angry, and the other looking very exasperated.

“Which one? What’d they do? Are—“ He whipped back around to his ghost, eyes wide and already feeling himself growing angry. “Are they the ones who—?”

“No,” Kenma cut him off quickly. “No, I don’t know, I…” He swallowed. “It’s…the one on the right.”

Shouyou glanced at the man on the right: very pretty and looking like a college student. He was shaking his head at the boy next to him, hair like raven feathers.

“If not that, then what did he…?”

“I don’t…remember.” Kenma’s hand tightened where the other was holding it. “Let’s—leave.”

“What about the…?”

Kenma glanced between the library doors, the man, and Shouyou. Finally, he settled on asking, “Are you still hungry?”

 

\--

 

“Tell me what that was about.”

The McDonald’s they were eating at was surprisingly empty for seven A.M, but Shouyou wasn’t about to complain. He’d chosen a spot at the back so he could talk in a quiet voice and not get caught, food in hand and stomach growling. (He’d held a full, uninhibited conversation with Kenma at a Wendy’s once and got asked to leave.)

Across from him, Kenma watched him dip a fry in a pile of ketchup. “I told you, I don’t know.”

“So you just—saw the guy and started flipping? Did you not remember _anything_ while you were looking at him? It didn’t trigger any memories at all?”

The blonde shook his head, frowning. “I just…got a bad feeling.”

“He freaked you out.” That was an understatement, but Shouyou wasn’t going to point out the fact. “Is this the first time you’ve, you know, done that with someone?”

They both paused conversation for another customer to pass their table on their way to the bathroom, Kenma staying quiet more out of courtesy for Shouyou. Once the door swung closed, Kenma nodded his head, biting his thumb.

“I think so,” he mumbled. “I don’t remember it ever happening before.”

Shouyou nodded in understanding and took a sip of his drink. After swallowing, he said, “Do you think we’ll be okay to—you know, go back now?”

Even at the mention of it, the ghost was visibly tensing, form flickering with anxiety at the prospect of having to go back there. “Not—“ His voice cracked. He tried again. “Not right now. Please.”

Shouyou nodded again. “Okay. I’m not gonna make you do anything, since this is my mess anyway. We should just…find something to keep us busy until you’re okay going there again, I guess?”

“Yeah.” Kenma nodded. “Okay.”

 

\--

 

The issues with walking around a very foreign and very busy town at night were endless, and most of them involved Shouyou either being left for dead or _actually_ dead. It wasn’t hard to see why Kenma would have been against this, but it was a necessity.

“We have to find a place to stay,” Shouyou said.

“That’s why we should’ve done it before the sun went down.” But Kenma made little else comment on it.

He stuck even closer to Shouyou’s side than he normally would to keep from getting lost in the crowds of people, the downtown sidewalks busy. Shouyou could feel the cold essence of his ghost right up against his skin; it wasn’t helping him in the winter air as far as temperature went, but having his friend that close made him feel a little bit better, so he didn’t complain.

“How much money do you think we could spare on a motel room?”

Kenma frowned. “Shouyou, you can’t book a motel. You’re fifteen.”

“So?”

“That’s illegal.”

He huffed. “I bet we could find someone who’d let it slide—“

“Only very shady places would do that.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing!” He whisper-shouted.

He heard Kenma mumbled _barely_ right before he felt the other’s hand on his shoulder. The mood shifted.

“Don’t turn around.” His voice was quiet and steel hard. If words could sound like ice, his did. “Someone’s following you.”

Shouyou tried not to visibly react, but it was a difficult task. Kenma’s hand on his shoulder was a grounding weight, keeping him from freaking out too badly, but he could already feel himself starting to panic.

“Is it…?”

“No. No, it’s not anyone from the orphanage. Or—the police. I don’t think they know you.”

Shouyou let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding—which was, of course, probably the opposite of how he should’ve been feeling, but he had little time to reflect on it. Kenma was speaking low in his ear, telling him what to do.

“It’s—a guy, older than you, but he’s human I think. Speed up—not that quickly, he’ll notice. Just—“

“Fast walk?”

He nodded. “Fast walk. Do you remember where the church from yesterday is?”

Shouyou’s eyes flicked to where he could just see the top of the building over the others. “Yeah, I remember. Should I head there?”

“Quickly. We can lose him on the way.”

“I thought you just said not too quickly.”

“Shh.” Kenma’s hand on his shoulder tightened. “He’s—shit—“

“What—?”

The thought wasn’t finished. A hand that wasn’t Kenma’s slid onto his shoulder, and he felt Kenma jump back at the contact.

“Hey.” It was an uncomfortably friendly voice, low, and directly behind him. Shouyou’s heart thrummed in his chest as he turned around, making contact with a very human set of eyes. The man continued like he hadn’t noticed the way the other looked like he was about to piss himself in fear.

“I couldn’t help overhear you talking about needing to book a room? I could help you if you wanted.” At this, the man smiled widely. Shouyou smiled back, a little apprehensively. Next to him, Kenma was quiet.

“O-oh!” He stuttered, looking away. The man was so much older than him, it felt like—at least in his twenties, and looking significantly stronger than Shouyou. He scrambled to come up with something to say. “Uh—well, I wasn’t…”

“’That’s okay,’” Kenma said in his ear, “’You don’t have to go through all that trouble.’”

“Th-that’s okay!” He repeated the words too loudly, and winced at how his voice came out. Around them, people were still going about their lives. “You don’t—uh, you don’t have to go through all that trouble…”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” the stranger laughed. It was a normal enough sound. At the very least, it didn’t make Shouyou’s skin crawl. “I’m happy to help. Besides, you look tired.”

“I do?” Shouyou blinked. Kenma narrowed his eyes at the man.

“We need to get out of here and back to the church,” Kenma whispered. Shouyou nodded his head once to let the other know he’d heard him.

“W-well, uh—“ He started to take a step down the street, the way they’d been going before he had caught up with them. “Really, it’s okay, I wouldn’t know how to repay you, a-and—“

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He smiled. “I’m sure we could figure something out.”

That was a red, flashing sign if Shouyou had ever been given one. “…R-right. Um.”

Kenma slid a hand into his to calm him down. “Start towards the church while he’s talking. We’ll figure something out.”

He followed the instructions, taking another step down the street. The man fell into line next to him, having disregarded Shouyou’s refusal.

“Did you have a motel in mind?” He asked, smiling still. “If not, there’s a place just this way.”

“You don’t have to—“

He laughed again. He did that a lot. “I was headed down there anyway, it’s no big deal. How old are you? Seventeen?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Shouyou lied. He scanned the area for escape routes as discreetly as he could—which, admittedly, wasn’t very. They were coming up on an alleyway to their left. He wondered where it went, and if he could use it to get away from the stranger.

Kenma was thinking the same thing. “I’ll see where it leads,” he said, sliding his hand out of Shouyou’s before running ahead of them to check, and consequentially leaving the other boy alone. A heavy, but necessary sacrifice.

“I remember being seventeen.” The guy kept conversation flowing smoothly, in a very skin-grating way. “One of your best teenage years, right? Ah, wait, I sound like such an old man now, don’t I?” He chuckled.

Shouyou tried for a smile that came out as a grimace. Kenma returned and motioned towards the alley. “Go.”

“Oh! I just remembered—“ Shouyou turned, heading down the alley. “I’ve, um, got to get—home.”

The man’s smile dropped slightly, but he kept following. “Through there?”

“Y-yeah. It’s a shortcut.” Shouyou forced a casual laugh. “It’s getting late, so I’ve got to go now…”

Kenma shuffled closer to his side. “Be careful.”

“That’s odd.” The stranger wasn’t smiling anymore.

“W-what?”

“That you would need a motel room earlier if you were just going to head home.”

“Oh—well—that’s—“

“And now that I think about it,” he continued, “I’ve not seen you around here. You a runaway?”

Shouyou’s heart pounded. He felt a fire in his fingertips. _Please, for the love of god, keep it together, don’t have an episode_ now _of all times_ — “O-of course not, what made you th-think that?”

“Calm down, Shouyou,” Kenma mumbled, noticing the beginning signs of an episode. “Focus on getting out of here.”

“It’s obvious that you are,” the stranger continued, sneering now, an expected one-eighty from his previous behavior. “Another brat running from his parents, I bet. I _could_ just turn you into the police, you know. I’m sure they’d be happy to have you.”

Shouyou took another step back, and felt brick against his skin. The fire spread. He could feel his body changing, not his own: the result of panic. “That’s n-not—“

Just as the man, so much taller than him, pushed Shouyou further back into the wall and leered over him, he saw the shadow of someone at the front of the alleyway. Two someones, actually.

An unfamiliar voice said, “ _There_ you are!”

It got the desired effect. The offender’s head wiped up; Shouyou took the chance to push out from under the cage of his arms, scrambling away and further to the front of the alley.

“Who the hell are you?”

The owner of the voice rushed forward, tugging at Shouyou’s arm and dragging him towards the exit of the alleyway. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! How many times do I have to remind you to keep your phone charged?”

Shouyou blinked. “Um—“

His savoir bent down slightly and whispered, “Play along.” To the stranger, he said, “Thank you so much for taking care of him. We’ll be going now.”

“Hey, wait a minute, you bastard!”

The man, still holding gently onto Shouyou’s arm, turned to the stranger and smiled. Sharp teeth glinted in the streetlight: a threat.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said. “We’ll be going now.”

The stranger made no rebuttal.

 

\--

 

Once out of the alley and back into the street, the light made it easier to see the faces of his saviors. He realized they were the men from earlier at the same time Kenma did.

“You—!” He started to say, and then realized how incriminating that would sound, to say _you’re the ones who scared Kenma_ , and he didn’t feel like getting into that conversation right now. Instead, he swallowed the words and tried not to stare. The older of the two was even prettier up close.

“Are you okay?” His savoir asked, the moment they were far enough away from the stranger for it to be deemed safe. The other boy trailed to his right, staying quiet. “He didn’t hurt you or anything?”

Shouyou shook his head, mouth still closed. He tried to ignore the way Kenma was shaking next to him.

“Oh, thank god.” The man smiled. “We noticed him trailing you earlier. I’m glad we thought to make sure you were okay.”

“I-I could’ve been fine on my own,” Shouyou squeaked, feeling like he needed to prove himself. He felt pathetic, needing to be saved like that. He realized how rude that sounded and stopped to bow. “Thank you for saving me!”

“Oh, none of that,” the man laughed, clearly uncomfortable with the show of gratitude. “It was the least we could’ve done. I’m Sugawara Koushi, by the way.”

Shouyou straightened up, and glanced at Kenma briefly. He had stopped shaking, but he looked like a deer caught in headlights at Sugawara Koushi’s words.

“Hinata Shouyou,” he provided. “Thank you again for saving me, Sugawara-san.”

Sugawara smiled gently. The mole on his cheek moved with his smile, but it only added to his beauty. “Please, just call me Suga. Ah, I completely forgot—“ He turned to the boy next to him. “This is Kageyama Tobio.”

Kageyama Tobio was taller and much less friendly looking than Suga, with uninterested eyes and a scowl. Two pointed ears poked out from beneath black hair (it didn’t look any less featherlike this close up). He frowned at Shouyou and turned away, not saying anything.

Shouyou’s face twisted into its own frown at the treatment. He didn’t like being ignored.

“Kageyama-san, don’t be rude,” Suga chastised.

“I’m not.” But he still didn’t address Shouyou.

Suga sighed. “Forgive him. He’s not very good with people.”

“That is _not_ —“

“Would you like for us to accompany you where you’re going?” he interrupted Kageyama, turning to smile reassuringly at Shouyou. “If you think you’ll be okay, that’s fine too. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable getting home.”

Kenma was still quiet. Shouyou thought about how to answer for a moment. “Oh—well, um.” He paused, and then blurted out, “Are you—a monster?”

Suga didn’t blink at the question, but next to him, Kageyama’s scowl deepened even more.

“We’re vampires, if that’s what you’re asking, yes,” he answered politely, and tucked a strand of silver hair behind his ear: pointed, just like Kageyama’s. “Are you?”

Shouyou opened his mouth to say _of course I’m not, I’m human_ before he remembered. He looked away awkwardly, reluctant to admit it out loud, but seeing Suga wait so patiently for an answer, he finally nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

The vampire nodded. “Are you a runaway?”

There was that question again. Shouyou stiffened, and that must have been answer enough, because Suga was quick to reassure him, “Oh, no, we aren’t going to turn you in or anything, you don’t have to worry about that happening. We would both be hypocrites if we did that.”

Shouyou’s eyes widened. “Did you run away too?”

“A long time ago, yes. I’ve got a home, now, though.”

They were approaching the church. He should have left it alone, but he had to ask— “Why did you run away?”

Kageyama stepped forward. “That’s not your business to ask.”

“Please calm down.” Suga shot him a look, implying the _please_ was for little else but courtesy. “It’s a reasonable question.”

“Suga-san—“

Kenma spoke up for the first time. “I don’t like this.”

Shouyou opened his mouth to respond before he remembered they had company. Thankfully, neither seemed to notice his hesitation, or if they did they passed it off as nothing.

“I didn’t run away from home _,_ per se,” Suga continued, “but I did end up homeless after my parents passed.”

Shouyou wasn’t sure how to respond. An _I’m sorry_ was on the tip of his tongue, but it felt useless and cookie cutter. He remembered how much he hated it when kids at school apologized when they found out about his family, how hollow and self-centered it sounded in his ears, how unreasonably irritated it made him to hear. He swallowed the response.

“But anyway…” The four of them were at the steps of the church, Shouyou having led them there while talking. “Are you sure you’ll be alright staying by yourself tonight? I don’t know how persistent that man from earlier is.”

Instead of answering, he asked, “What did you mean by, ‘I’ve got a home now’?” The question had been itching under his skin, begging to be voiced.

Kageyama turned to Suga and pulled him a little ways off to the side. He said, “I don’t think this is a good idea,” at the same time that Kenma said to Shouyou, “This isn’t good.”

Neither of them noticed the way Shouyou whispered, _what do you mean_? at someone that wasn’t there. The older man shook his head at Kageyama.

“It’ll be fine,” Shouyou just barely heard him say. “He’s a monster, and he’s homeless—he fits the bill perfectly.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“You’re paranoid.”

“We don’t even know that he’s a monster!”

“You think he’s lying about that?”

Shouyou wasn’t looking at them, but he imagined Kageyama scowled some more. “He could be. We don’t know enough to trust him.”

“We can’t leave him on the streets by himself!”

“They don’t think you can hear them,” Kenma mumbled. He’d calmed down from earlier, no longer shaking or looking permanently like he was ready to sprint in the opposite direction, but he still seemed uneasy.

“Have you remembered anything about Sugawara?” Shouyou whispered, as quietly as he could. “Did hearing his name, you know, trigger anything?”

Kenma shook his head, looking frustrated, or as frustrated as Kenma could. Shouyou deflated slightly. “Oh.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed movement from where Suga and Kageyama were standing. The conversation seemed to have come to a close, the conclusion of it too quiet for Shouyou to hear. Kageyama had just thrown his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated, and was storming back to Shouyou. He glared; Shouyou bristled at the challenge, taking a step back involuntarily.

“Follow us if you don’t want to be turned in to the police, human,” he growled, and turned to stalk off away from the church. Suga gave Shouyou an apologetic smile, but followed his friend nonetheless.

Beside him, he could feel Kenma’s unease. But then again, what else did Shouyou really have to lose? Hesitantly, he followed the two, trotting behind them.

“Are we going to the home you mentioned?” Shouyou asked.

Suga laughed, the sound small. “You could say that.”

In front of them, Kageyama snorted.

“Come join the fucking circus,” he said, voice dripping in sarcasm. He turned to Shouyou. ”Don’t worry too much. It won’t be the animals we’ll feed you to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kags is such a drama queen tbh


	4. t's uncrossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Kageyama had said “circus,” Shouyou didn’t expect it to _actually be a circus_.
> 
> \--
> 
> the circus. it beckons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another week another chap. more plot things hello !! as well as more character cameos

Before Shouyou could react accordingly, Suga had elbowed Kageyama in the stomach hard enough to make Shouyou wince. Kageyama didn’t keel over, but he kind of looked like he wanted to.

“What he _means,_ ” Suga said, looking like a parent who was a little too tired of their child’s antics, “is that we’re offering you a place to stay tonight. Or longer, if you decide that’s what you want.”

“Longer?” Shouyou blinked, but kept pace with the two of them.

He nodded. ”But that’s a decision you can make later. Right now, we need to actually get there first. Our ride’s waiting for us.”

They walked a couple of blocks, the silence filled with Shouyou asking questions and Kageyama looking like he didn’t want to be there.

“How old are you?” Shouyou asked. The question was addressed to both of them, but Suga was the only one to answer.

“In chrono years, eighty-seven. But I’m really more like eighteen.”

Shouyou couldn’t help it when his eyes widened. “You’re _eighty-seven years old?!_ That’s, like—crazy! I’m only fifteen!”

The vampire laughed like he was expecting that response. “Ah, well, it’s not really that big of a deal. Mentally, I’m not that much older than you.”

Shouyou had a hard time believing that, but he let that go. There was a lot he didn’t know about monsters, especially not the kind that aged differently. At an all-human school, they hadn’t bothered to teach him about other species. They only got brief mentions every now and then, bitter comments or snide remarks about the uprising in activist groups that had started a couple of decades ago, and the laws that had been placed recently to ensure that monsters’ rights were protected. To Shouyou, it was a long time ago that the laws were placed, but it occurred to him that to someone like Suga, who was _eighty-seven_ , he had to live through the fight.

He wondered if Suga had been involved in any of the riots, and then wondered if that was rude to ask. Etiquette was also not something they taught at all-human schools, apparently.

Instead of asking what he wanted to, he said, “Who’s your ride?”

“A good friend of ours,” Suga answered. “She’s been very patient, but I don’t like keeping her waiting, especially since she gets a little—nervous, on her own.”

“Oh.”

Kenma was quiet next to him, but he didn’t ask why.

A couple of blocks away from the church, they suddenly turned into what Shouyou thought was a pub. He’d never actually been in one before, so he was just guessing, really, but—it looked like they did in movies. The place was crowded, and dimly lit, and on the window outside, there was a purple, glowing sign that read, _MONSTERS WELCOME._  Suga navigated the place like he’d been there a million times before, which he may very well have. Kageyama didn’t look any more comfortable than Shouyou felt, but for an entirely different reason.

As a fifteen-year-old boy of 162.8 centimeters, Shouyou was not easily noticeable in a crowd. Especially not a crowd full of very tall and very scary strangers, all of them different varieties of scary. He’d never seen so many different types of monsters all in one area in his life—it was a sea of wings and glowing eyes and extra limbs and bright colors and all the things he’d been running from in himself.

It was overwhelming, to say the least. He kept bumping into people and scrambling to apologize, trying to weasel his way under crowd-goers while keeping up with the surprisingly fast pace Suga set. He didn’t know if that was a vampire thing or a Suga thing. Either way, it was a struggle.

Kenma stuck to his side the whole time. His voice was almost lost in all the chatter. “You’re really going to trust those two?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Shouyou whispered back. He knew Kenma could hear him, now matter how quiet he was. “I don’t have any other plan. And—they seem nice! We don’t know that they hurt you, do we? They could’ve been old friends or something!”

“I don’t know about that,” Kenma mumbled, but he must have agreed with Shouyou that they had no other choice, because that was all he said.

They stopped walking, now at the other end of the pub. Suga was talking to someone, and the conversation looked important.

Kageyama glanced back at Shouyou and caught his eye. Shouyou almost jumped out of his skin.

“Wh-what?! What are you looking at me like that for?!” He frowned and tried to make himself look bigger. “Y-you wanna fight?!”

They held eye contact for a couple of seconds before Kageyama _tch_ -ed and turned back around, like Shouyou wasn’t worth his time, and that only made him angrier, despite how scared he kind of was of Kageyama.

(In his defense, Kageyama _was_ really scary. He had an intimidating face even when he wasn’t actively displeased, always frowning or looking like he wanted to start a fight, with body language to match. The scars running across his face—two of them, one stretching from his right cheek across his nose and nearly to the corner of his eye, the other slanted on his left cheek, like someone had slashed his face and decided once wasn’t good enough—didn’t help the appearance much either.)

He opened his mouth to start a fight when Kageyama beat him to it.

“What are you?”

Shouyou forgot what he was going to say in his surprise. “What?”

“I said,” and Kageyama took a step towards him—Shouyou took a step back, “ _what are you_?”

“I’m…“ Kenma laid a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “…Why do _you_ care?”

“Suga might trust you, but that doesn’t mean I do.” It wasn’t a sneer, but it was something close to it. “How do I know you aren’t lying about being a monster?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

And that seemed a fair answer to Shouyou. Why _would_ he lie about that? What would he have to gain from pretending to be something he wasn’t, especially if he was pretending to be something that was treated as lesser? He had benefited wildly from pretending to be human for a few years: he got to stay at the orphanage, he got to continue going to a good school. He wasn’t ridiculed. He wasn’t shunned. He was treated as _normal_. He was treated as _equal._

So, what in the _hell_ would Shouyou have had to gain from pretending to be a monster?

Kageyama didn’t see it like that. “You tell me.”

“I’m _not_ lying!”

That was an insult in and off itself, that this absolutely _jerk_ he’d _barely just met_ would think he was lying, especially about something he’d been coming to terms with for years now.

“Then,” and there was the question again, “what are you?”

He opened his mouth, determined to prove this asshole wrong, but no sound came out. Kageyama looked at him expectantly before finally turning away, looking smug and saying nothing. Suga appeared at Shouyou’s side a moment later, refusing to acknowledge the hostile atmosphere that had fallen in his absence.

“I found her,” he said. “Let’s go, you two.”

 

\--

 

They made their way to the very back of the pub, Shouyou clenching his fists at his sides, still a little bit more than upset, Kageyama pulling up just far enough to be ahead of Shouyou and behind Suga. The three of them turned into a small hallway, where four doors greeted them: _women’s restroom, men’s restroom, employees only,_ and _exit_. Both of the restrooms had hand-written signs on them, loudly announcing that they were both _OUT OF ORDER._

Suga pushed past the _employees only_ door with practiced ease, not even bothering to check if there was someone around that would see them and get them in trouble. Shouyou followed tentatively, stepping inside to see not a kitchen or a staff room, but what looked like a fancier version of the pub behind them.

“A lounge?”

Neither of them answered him, and he followed closely behind. Sitting on one of the couches at the back were two people: a small girl looking worried, and a lanky boy looking tired.

The girl hopped up the moment she spotted them. “Suga-san, Kageyama-san!”

“Hitoka-san,” Suga greeted, smiling.

Hitoka was blonde, brown-eyed, and soft-voiced. She smiled at the two boys in turn, and even managed to get Kageyama to look at least a little less unfriendly. She blinked when she noticed Shouyou, and then scrambled to apologize.

“I’m so sorry!” She bowed, the crystal necklace hanging around her neck dipping with the motion. “I didn’t realize Suga-san brought someone back with him!”

Shouyou waved it off with a laugh. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it! I’m Hinata Shouyou.”

Hesitantly, she straightened up from her bow, still looking a little embarrassed. “Ah—it’s nice to meet you, Hinata-san. I’m Yachi Hitoka.” They didn’t shake hands, but Shouyou didn’t mind.

“Where’d Yamaguchi-kun go?” Suga asked Hitoka. She blinked, and turned around to the couch she’d been sitting on. The boy from earlier had disappeared.

“I just saw him.” She turned back around, frowning slightly. “Did anyone else come with you?”

Suga shook his head. “Just us. I didn’t know Yamaguchi-kun was here?”

Hitoka smiled. “Tsukishima-san said that he would need to be here when we left, so I asked him to come out on his own earlier in the day. I’ll go look for him.”

The blonde hurried out of the room, one hand clasped around her necklace like that would help find him. Shouyou turned back to the remaining two.

“Is she the person you were talking about earlier?”

Suga nodded. “She and Yamaguchi handle transportation, although I wasn’t aware he came with her this time.”

“Transportation? Like, they drive you?” Neither of them looked old enough to drive, but he didn’t voice that.

“You’ll see.” Suga smiled knowingly and left it at that. Shouyou didn’t push for a better explanation.

Hitoka came back a few moments later, the boy from earlier trailing behind her. Shouyou eyed the necklace he was wearing curiously; it matched Hitoka’s in everything but color.

“This is Yamaguchi Tadashi,” Suga introduced them. “Yamaguchi, this is Hinata Shouyou. He’s coming back with us.”

Yamaguchi nodded. He was very freckly and very brown: brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. The tank top he was wearing stuck to his body with sweat, and he was still catching his breath like he’d just been running, and in one hand was a large bottle of alcohol. Shouyou blinked at the sight. He knew they were in a bar, but—Yamaguchi _certainly_ didn’t look old enough to drink.

“Has Daichi called?” The question came from Suga.

Hitoka nodded. “A few hours ago, but he’s really busy.”

Suga swore. “We need to get back soon. Here’s okay, right?”

Yamaguchi spared the room a quick glance. “Here’s fine, but we’re going to need a few more bowls than usual.”

Beside him, Kenma must have sensed Shouyou’s confusion. He quietly explained, “They’re witches.”

“What?”

He hadn’t meant to respond out loud, but Suga seemed to take it he was asking about the glasses comment, and answered accordingly.

“Ah, we weren’t prepared originally for another person to come along,” he said. “But don’t worry, it’s an easy fix.”

Shouyou nodded and smiled like he was following the conversation even a little.

Kenma continued to explain in his ear. “They’re using scrying bowls. Usually, psychics use scrying for telling the future, but with witches it can be to move from one place to another. It’s common, but difficult with only one witch. That’s probably why two of them had to come along.”

He couldn’t say thank you, but knowing Kenma, Kenma already knew. He watched Yamaguchi and Hitoka set five bowls on the floor in front of the couch, all in a circle. Yamaguchi distributed alcohol from the bottle in his hand evenly into each bowl. When it was completely empty, he got up and set it on the counter behind them.

Suga raised an eyebrow at the two witches. “Alcohol?”

Hitoka smiled sheepishly. “It’s all we have right now. The bathroom sinks are broken.”

“Oh, of course.” But he only sounded amused.

Yamaguchi and Hitoka sat down in-between the bowls, and Kageyama and Suga followed suit. Shouyou hesitantly followed their lead, feeling a little bit more than unsure about what he was supposed to be doing, but no one reprimanded him, so he figured he was okay.

To his right, Suga smiled at him. “You ready?”

Shouyou nodded, although he didn’t know what he was supposed to be ready _for._  Before he could ask how this was supposed to get them anywhere, there was a tingling in his arms, and for a split second he thought he was having another episode.

“Hold on,” Kenma said. He had a moment to think _to what?_ before the tingling spread up his arms and into his whole body, and then he was weightless.

 

\--

 

Shouyou was more than a little disoriented when he came to.

Well, if “came to” was the correct term. Had he passed out? What had actually happened? He couldn’t tell. Either way, he was suddenly standing on the side of a dark, unfamiliar road, feeling his head spin.

He stumbled and started to tip over. Hitoka grabbed his arm before he could land straight on his face. “Hinata-san!”

“’m fine,” he tried to say, but the slur of his voice wasn’t very convincing. He blinked a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Along with Hitoka, Kenma was helping him get back to his feet in that quiet way of his.

Suga rushed forward, and Yamaguchi stood behind him. Both of them held a flashlight in their hands, pointed down.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Suga fretted. “I should’ve warned you earlier.”

“What? Warned me about what?” Shouyou wasn’t following the conversation. He managed to stand upright, and Hitoka hesitantly let go of his arm. His head was still spinning, and he could feel a migraine coming on, but he was able to get his balance back. He blinked at the road around them. “Where are we? What happened? What _was_ that?”

“We’re a mile from Karasuno,” Suga answered. “And I forgot to ask if you had ever apported like that before. It can be sort of—disorienting, the first time you do it.”

“Karasuno? And what does ‘apported’ mean?”

He smiled. “Ahh… apported is kind of like teleporting, in a way. Yamaguchi and Hitoka apported us using the bowls. As for Karasuno, well, you’ll see soon,” Suga finished, a bit mysteriously. “Can you walk?”

Shouyou nodded, but he felt like even if he hadn’t been able to, he still would’ve said yes. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the people he was with—well, maybe not Kageyama—it was that he didn’t like looking weak, or being coddled. Especially when he hadn’t proven himself to them yet.

“Are you sure?” Kenma asked. He’d always been perceptive, to the point that it was a little scary sometimes. Shouyou nodded once after Suga had turned around. Kageyama caught his eye and frowned, but Shouyou only glared back before following Hitoka.

The five of them began walking down the side of the road, trees surrounding them and no cars passing. It was dark out, and must have been past eight or nine o’clock; the only light came from Yamaguchi’s and Suga’s flashlights and the moon, but no one seemed bothered by it.

Shouyou couldn’t tell where they were or where they were going, but he trusted that he would be okay following them. Maybe that was stupid of him, to trust someone he’d barely just meet so fully, but Shouyou couldn’t bring himself to think it was anything but natural. Suga made him feel comfortable, at home, and Hitoka and Yamaguchi were friendly enough. That only left Kageyama.

He couldn’t see the appeal in trusting Kageyama, but he might have before, had the other not burned that bridge with his accusation that Shouyou was lying. Now that a hostile tone had been set, Shouyou didn’t think it was going to change any time soon. _He_ certainly wasn’t going to be the first one to step down. No way in hell.

Kenma must have sensed he was itching to pick a fight, because he sighed. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Yamaguchi, Hitoka, and Suga were deep in conversation, something about Daichi and Karasuno and things that Shouyou didn’t understand at all. He figured he’d be okay if he whispered. “When have I ever done anything stupid?”

His ghost frowned, just a small downturn of his barely-there lips. “Shouyou,” he said, warning.

“…Fine. I’ll try not to.”

“Thank you.”

“And what about you?” At the look Kenma gave him, he elaborated, “How are you doing with being around…you know?”

“I’m fine.” The answer was quick, worryingly so, and he realized it. Kenma looked away. “It’s fine. It’s not bothering me. _He’s_ not bothering me.”

“You’re sure? You seem kind of bothered.”

“I’m sure, Shouyou. Kageyama’s looking at you.”

Shouyou’s head snapped up, and Kenma hadn’t been lying. The boy glared at him, looking unnecessarily irritated. Shouyou bristled; he hadn’t even _done_ anything! What did Kageyama have to be so angry at anyway?

“Are you talking to yourself?”

The question was voiced loud enough to draw the others’ attention. Suga glanced back at them, politely trying not to eavesdrop but failing pretty miserably. Shouyou met Kageyama’s glare with his own.

“No,” he snapped defensively. And because he felt he needed to retaliate, “Are _you_ talking to yourself?”

“What the fuck?”

They were on the verge of another argument, the other three looking between them, unsure of what to do. Yamaguchi intervened with a question.

“So, um, Hinata—what kind of monster are you?”

Yamaguchi hadn’t known it, but that wasn’t the best thing to ask, not when that was what Kageyama had acted all smug about earlier. Now, he snorted, like he expected Shouyou to freeze up and not know how to answer.

Just to prove that asshole wrong, he put his hands on his hips and proudly declared, “I’m a shapeshifter.”

All four of them blinked. At the same time that Kageyama frowned, Hitoka smiled.

“Are you really?” She sounded excited.

Shouyou nodded gingerly. His confidence shriveled up a little, in light of the way they were all looking at him. “Y-yeah. I am.”

“Bullshit.” Kageyama.

“It is _not_!”

“Kageyama,” Suga said, giving said boy a warning look. It was ignored.

“If it isn’t, then prove it.” And at the way that Shouyou blinked, looking shocked, he continued, “If you’re really a shapeshifter, prove it.”

“Well—I…”

It wasn’t that Shouyou _couldn’t_ shapeshift—no, he was well, well aware that he could. It was just that Shouyou had never shapeshifted on command. Every time before, it had been a result of anxiety or happiness or anger or any emotion that came in abundance, a reaction his body had picked up from not knowing how to deal with so much _emotion_. It had needed a place to put all his feelings, and chosen to put it in his shapeshifting.

The last three years of his life had been filled with him trying to _stop_ shapeshifting, trying to keep from doing it so he wouldn’t be found out, not do it on _command_. So of course he didn’t know how to do on his own, of course he couldn’t do it just because Kageyama asked him to! It only made sense that he couldn’t.

But there was no way he could explain that to that asshole. _I can’t,_ he imagined himself saying, _I’ve never done it before_. And then that would just look like he was admitting that he wasn’t a shapeshifter, and that he wasn’t a monster, and then Kageyama would act like he’d won and like Shouyou was a liar, when he _wasn’t._ Shouyou was stuck.

He floundered for words to say, some kind of reason that he couldn’t demonstrate what he was yet, an excuse that didn’t sound quite as fake as the real one. He came up with nothing.

“Well?” Kageyama looked like he’d already won.

“I—I can’t,” Shouyou blurted. There was nothing to tell but the truth. Kenma was silent next to him, letting him fight his own battles. At the smug look on Kageyama’s face, he rushed to continue, “Not because I’m not a shapeshifter, but—I’ve never—done it. On my own…before.”

The words got smaller as he continued. His face burned. All four of them were looking at him now, but only Suga said anything.

“What do you mean by that, Hinata?”

Shouyou stared at his feet, too embarrassed to meet any of their gazes. This was more than humiliating to admit, but—he had to prove he wasn’t lying! He started to explain as best as he could.

“At the orphanage, I—well, it was all-human, and so was my school, so they thought I was human that whole time, and I had to figure out I was a monster on my own, so I spent most of the time trying _not_ to shapeshift and—I don’t know, it just never occurred to me to, like, _try_ to do it, when I was trying so hard _not_ to. So I don’t know how.”

When he looked up, Kageyama was still frowning, but he looked less smug and more irritated. Suga caught Shouyou’s eye and smiled gently.  

“So you ran away from your orphanage?”

Shouyou stiffened, but he nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mention that earlier…”

“It’s fine,” he reassured. “Good to know, though.”

“Right.” There was silence, uncomfortable, after his words. He glanced away. “So—that’s why I can’t, you know, do it.”

“It’s okay,” Hitoka reassured him. She blushed a little before saying, “I couldn’t do magic on command for a long time, either, so…I understand.”

Suga nodded. “We believe you, so you don’t have to prove yourself or anything.” He sent Kageyama a look at the last words. Kageyama stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned towards the road. His scars seemed to glow under the light of the flashlights.

Shouyou nodded at Suga. “Right…Thank you.” And because he couldn’t stand the quiet, he changed the subject, “How far are we from, uh, Karasuno?”

Suga glanced at the road as if that would help him judge. “I’d say twenty minutes, if we actually start walking.” Turning back around, he gave Kageyama a look, and then turned it to Shouyou. He was smiling, but it was somehow the most threatening expression Shouyou had ever seen. “So we’re not going to argue anymore, are we?”

“No,” they both said in unison. That seemed about the only thing they could agree on.

“Good.” Suga’s expression returned to its normal smile. “Shall we get going then?”

 

\--

 

When Kageyama had said “circus,” Shouyou didn’t expect it to _actually be a_ _circus_.

The only thing Shouyou was capable of saying the moment the clearing came into view was _woah._ And then, once words stopped failing him, everything at once.

“What is _that?_ Is this really, like—a circus? Like the ones that travel places and do shows and stuff? Do _you_ guys do shows? Are they—“

“Hinata, calm down!” Suga interrupted him, his hands out as if to placate Shouyou, but he was grinning. “We can’t explain anything if you’re talking over us.”

Fair enough, he guessed. Shouyou nodded and closed his mouth, trying to keep from blurting out question after question, as they moved further into the clearing, past buildings and venues and tents.

Everything was so _colorful_. And the lights! The whole place lit up under the night sky. Big, red-and-white striped tents sat littered across the ground, in between Ferris wheels and food venues and what looked like animal pens. But despite the attractions being lit up and in dire need of use (Shouyou was _itching_ to try some of the games), there seemed to be no one there but the five of them. He made sure to remember to ask about that later on.

As they walked, Hitoka told him, “We’re going to see Daichi-san. I think Suga’s waiting to get him here before he explains anything.”

“Oohh, okay, thanks!” Shouyou paused. “…Who’s Daichi?”

She seemed surprised by that. “Suga and Kageyama haven’t told you?”

“Ah, no…” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, thinking back on the conversation he’d had with Kageyama at the pub. He grimaced. “We’ve been kind of…busy, I guess.”

“Oh. Well, um, in that case, Daichi-san is the one that started this place. He took us all in, and he’s the one who runs everything.”

“Is he like—what’s that called in movies, the ringleader? Is he like that?”

Hitoka looked down, smiling fondly at her shoes. “You could call him that, yeah. But it’s not that he acts like he’s our boss or anything, even though he technically is. He’s more like family for all of us.”

Shouyou thought about the orphanage, and then Kenma, and his heart hurt briefly. “Sounds like you guys are all really close.”

“I’ve actually only been here for a year, but most of us are like that.”

“Even Kageyama?”

She gave him a curious look, but nodded. “Even him.”

Shouyou found that hard to believe, but he didn’t voice it, choosing instead to change the topic. “You said you’ve been here for a year now, right?”

“Right.”

“How’d you find this place?”

The blonde paused for a second, seeming to think about her answer, before she gestured between them and the group walking in front. “Well, the same way you did, but it was Kiyoko-san that found me originally.”

“Kiyoko-san?”

She blinked, and then looked away, her face red. “A-ah, yeah, she works here too. You’ll meet her sometime soon.”

Conversation seemed to end after that, once Shouyou realized he had made her uncomfortable. But they were approaching their destination soon anyway, so he had little time to dwell on it.

At the very back, the farthest away from the entrance, was a bright orange farmhouse, as gaudy as it was big. Shouyou followed the other four inside the house, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t say anything, even though he was bursting with questions. Kenma shook his head at the doorway, like he didn’t like the thought of going inside, but hesitantly stepped in anyway.

Noticing Shouyou’s worry, he assured, “I’m fine. Just pay attention to where we are right now.”

He didn’t dare try to have a verbal conversation right now, not when the others were less than two feet in front of them, and the whole clearing was so _quiet._  It was almost eerie, how silent such a vibrantly colored place was.

Hitoka smiled at him, seeming to pity him based on the confused and wondering look he was no doubt wearing. Shouyou had always been good at wearing his emotions on his sleeve. He smiled back to let her know he was all right.

“Welcome,” Suga said from in front of them, “to Karasuno.”

 

\--

 

Tsukishima Kei was tired.

Daichi had been working him hard all day, from the moment he got up to the moment he laid off to take a break. They were short on people right now, because of the trip that Suga, Yachi, Kageyama, and Yamaguchi had taken last minute. It hadn’t been _his_ fault that they needed to go scouting—he didn’t see why he had to get punished for it. The second he got back to his shared room, he curled up in his bed, ready to spend the rest of the night relaxing.

Most of the day had been a blur of boring chores around the farmhouse. Because he didn’t work in the shows, he didn’t undergo the sort of intensive training that Nishinoya, Tanaka, and the rest of the acrobats had to go through, so he was usually assigned more domestic tasks. Daichi had originally tried to get him to work in acrobatics—“You’ve got natural talent,” he’d said, “and we could use someone like that.” But as it turned out, Kei just couldn’t be damned enough to care. And so he was left alone, to work as Karasuno’s backwards secretary, running errands and making sure they all knew the schedule.

It wasn’t a very _difficult_ job, per se—all Kei had to do was be there—but it was tiring, both physically and mentally. His body retired easily after scrying so often; too many visions made it hard to function in other day to day activities, so he tried to keep it to one or two a day, max. Because of the number limit, Daichi had learned to use his visions wisely, only asking for them when he was sure he could afford it. And because of that, Kei spent an odd amount of time in and out of the farmhouse.

There was a knock at his room door.

“Tsukki?”

Kei didn’t bother moving. “It’s unlocked.”

He heard rather than saw someone come in; there were soft footsteps nearing his bed, and then a freckled-faced leaning over his and looking both content and exhausted.

“Yamaguchi,” Kei said, in lieu of greeting. His glasses were on his bedside table; he had to stare to make out the other’s features.

Yamaguchi smiled brightly—excited to see his friend, even when beat. “Hi. How was your day?”

“Boring.”

He pulled away and plopped down on the bed across from Kei’s, starting to unlace his boots. “What’d you do?”

“Worked. Cleaned. Dicked around.”

“Wasted any time?”

He let himself smile slightly. “Lots.”

Yamaguchi kicked off both his shoes once they were untied, shoving them under his bed, and pulled himself onto his mattress fully. He looked more scuffed up than usual, probably in need of a shower but too tired to take one until morning.

Kei didn’t like looking curious, but he couldn’t help asking, “How’d scouting go?”

“It went pretty well, actually!” He hooked a loose string of dark hair behind his ear, leaning back on his pillow. “And you were right, they did end up needing me.”

“I’m always right,” Kei said. That wasn’t true—Kei was only right when it came to predictions.

But Yamaguchi never looked at it that way. He only smiled more, and said, “Right. Sorry, Tsukki.”

Kei looked away. Even without glasses, it got difficult to stare directly at Yamaguchi sometimes. “How’s the new kid?”

“He’s—interesting. But a good interesting, I think. He ran away from home, and apparently he’s a shapeshifter, so Suga decided to take him in.” Yamaguchi frowned for a moment. “He doesn’t get along with Kageyama, but I don’t know why. I wasn’t there when they met, so.”

“No one gets along with Kageyama,” was Kei’s automatic response. Yamaguchi snorted in a laugh, but continued the conversation.

“Did you know what the new kid was going to be like before we left?”

“A little.” Kei paused. “Just that he was—loud. And important.”

The hum of the heater filled the silence between them for a moment, Yamaguchi mulling the words over as he got ready for bed. “Important?”

Kei went to push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose before he remembered he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Hopefully the other hadn’t seen that little slip up. “I don’t know why, but the shrimp’s been showing up in a few different visions lately. So. Important.”

Yamaguchi looked like he wanted to ask what the visions had been of exactly—what Kei had seen, the things he had had to break down and interpret. But he knew that Kei never liked doing that, explaining the process. The predictions had a tendency, once explained and shared, to become less true.

So, instead, he rolled over on his side so he was facing his roommate, and repeated, voice a little quiet, “Important, huh?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You don’t seem to like him already. That’s a new record, disliking someone before you’ve even met them.” The change of subject was welcomed; especially when it came with the way Yamaguchi snickered at his own joke.

Kei rolled his eyes, fondly exasperated. “He’s loud and excitable, that much I know already.”

“And you don’t like loud or excitable people?”

He didn’t answer. It was a rhetorical question, anyway.

After that, the two of them fell into a comfortable quiet. Kei lay on his back, looking at the ceiling for a while, unable to sleep despite how exhausted his body was.

He had just thought that Yamaguchi had fallen asleep when the other boy said, “Tsukki?”

Kei grunted to let him know he was listening.

“Is it—a good important, or a bad important?”

The question was so unexpected that Kei paused. He frowned at the ceiling.

Once a few seconds were up, he said, “I don’t know.”

“…Right.” The answer, although truthful, didn’t seem to reassure Yamaguchi. Nonetheless, he flicked the lamp off with a final, “Goodnight, Tsukki.”

“’Night, Yamaguchi.”

But he fell asleep thinking about that question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've decided not to respond to comments individually, but we do read and appreciate all of them!!! (also, gray reads any of the tags on the bookmarks, and thoroughly enjoys them ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	5. the story unfolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small handful of Karasuno’s members was a comfort and a constant. Regardless of what happened, when he woke, they would be there, and they would keep moving. They always kept moving.
> 
> And because they kept moving, things had the capacity to drastically change, granted there was a catalyst.
> 
> Hinata Shouyou, for example.
> 
> \--
> 
> hina joins the fucking circus. ken. he observe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> logistics, karasuno, and foreshadowing [eyeball emoji]
> 
> this chap is slightly longer than normal whoops

Human ages were tricky.

Two-year-old children were very different than five-year-old children. The brain and body developed so quickly and so drastically in the short period of twenty-some years, and then all but seemed to stop for another thirty; humans hit the ground running, ran, ran, and then stopped dead in their tracks, and waited there until death greeted them some eighty years later. Often, adult humans described their experience as having the years go by quicker as they got older, until it felt like if they blinked, they would open their eyes to see themselves gray and dying.

Relationships were also tricky for humans; a sixteen-year-old and a twenty-one-year-old were discouraged from dating, but a thirty-year-old and a twenty-five-year-old were often normal. Chronologically, it was the same amount of time between the two, but their brains changed so much between adolescence and adulthood that they could turn up on the other side of youth as another person.

Slow-aging monsters weren’t like that. If a human’s development were a chart, it would go up, up, and then steady, until it gradually decreased as they began dying. But for slow-aging monsters, it was much more measured: the chart would raise up slowly, until it came to a pleasant stop, and stayed that way for the rest of the hundred years they had to live.

One of the most common monster types that aged like that was the vampire. Despite popular myth, they weren’t immortal. They aged, but at a rate five times that of a human’s; roughly one vampire year was four-point-nine chronological years. A vampire spent up to twenty-five chronological years before they were even sent to school, their body aging at a similar pace. They weren’t considered legally an adult until they were eighty-eight years old, because of the way the brain developed.

So, technically speaking, Kageyama Tobio was sixty-three years old when he first joined Karasuno.

 

\--

 

Tobio had been a member of Karasuno for almost ten chrono years now, but he still woke up every morning half excited and half terrified for the day.

Things were happening constantly—from Tsukishima’s predictions, to the new show they were learning, to the bi-monthly relocating, to scouting. Daichi always had something for them to do, something to keep them moving forward and away. People were coming and going, shows were accumulating and passing and being performed. Karasuno, although small, was a busy establishment.

The small handful of Karasuno’s members was a comfort and a constant. Regardless of what happened, when he woke, they would be there, and they would keep moving. They always kept moving.

And because they kept moving, things had the capacity to drastically change, granted there was a catalyst.

Hinata Shouyou, for example.

The thing about Hinata Shouyou was that he was Tobio’s opposite in everything but stubbornness. Loud, naïve, optimistic, always so stupidly trusting of the world around him—those things would get him killed one day, Tobio was sure. The moment he stepped onto the fairground, he was wide-eyed and wondering, gasping loudly at everything he saw and gaping in awe at things that only a human wouldn’t be aware of. Tobio kept his mouth shut from scoffing, but just barely. It was so painfully obvious that this kid was ignorant of nearly everything. How were they ever supposed to get anywhere with him if he kept asking elementary level questions?

Sugawara was too patient with him; Yachi was too kind. They humored his ignorance for the sake of playing nice. Tobio didn’t have the tolerance or time for that. Hinata was on his own as far as he was concerned.

Which was part of why he tried to return straight to his room the night they got back with Hinata. He didn’t want to deal with any more of this. Mostly, he just wanted to sleep.

That was a short-lived thought. As he was stepping out the doorway of Daichi’s office along with Hinata, Suga, Yamaguchi, and Yachi, Daichi asked him to stay back.

“I need to talk to you alone,” he said, giving him a look. Tobio felt Hinata’s curious eyes on the back of his neck. He ignored it and nodded at Daichi.

When everyone had left and the door was shut behind them, Daichi started, “How was the trip?”

Tobio shifted. “It was…fine. You already heard about it from Suga.”

“I heard the events, but I didn’t get what you thought about it.”

“What I thought about it?”

Daichi nodded. “What do you think about Hinata?”

It wasn’t the question Tobio had been expecting. He’d thought the other was going to ask him about his part for the show, maybe reprimand him for the fight he got in with Tsukishima earlier that day—not ask about the new kid of all people. “I—I’m sorry? What I think…?”

“About Hinata, yes.” Daichi was too patient with him sometimes, Tobio thought. But only when Tobio didn’t want him to be.

“I don’t like him.” It was the honest answer.

The man nodded like he’d been expecting that. “I didn’t think you did. Why don’t you like him?”

“He’s annoying.” Tobio frowned. “And…loud.”

“That’s all?”

Did there have to be more of a reason not to like him? He fidgeted where he stood. “I guess.”

“Right.” Daichi nodded, like Tobio was telling him some great truth, before putting his elbows on the tabletop and lacing his fingers together: his business pose. Daichi preferred not to look so professional, so if he was sitting like that, you knew you were in for some News, capital _n_ very much necessary. “If that’s all, then you won’t have many problems working with him?”

“Working,” Tobio repeated, “…with him? Hinata?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to work with him.”

“That’s what I’m asking you to do, yes.”

_Work_ with _Hinata_. “Daichi-san—“

“Suga already explained that you two didn’t get off on quite the right foot, so I know that you’re not the happiest about this,” he interrupted, “but I’m not asking. I need you to work with him.”

“ _Why_?”

Daichi tapped his thumbs together. His eyes flickered to the office’s window, but the curtains were drawn, and almost all the outside lights had been turned off for the night. “If he ends up staying, I want to put him in shows. You’re the newest acrobat we have that isn’t already paired up.”

“But Nishinoya—“

“Nishinoya is already paired with Tanaka, you know that. You’re the only one who’s consistently switched around.”

Tobio understood from a logical point of view why Daichi would decide to pair him with the new kid, but Tobio wasn’t good at distinguishing emotion from logic. His mind raced to grasp at an excuse to why he couldn’t work with Hinata, why he _wouldn’t_ work with Hinata. “But I—I can’t.”

“And why not?”

He frowned. “I don’t trust him.”

“You’re going to have to get over that.”

“Daichi-san—“

“Before you get too upset,” he said, raising his hands, “we don’t even know whether or not he’ll stay. He’s only just gotten here, and it’s going to be a big culture shock for him if he hasn’t been exposed to this kind of thing before. He needs a long adjustment period even if he _does_ end up staying, so you have a while, depending on how well he does or doesn’t adjust, before you have to actually start training together.”

Tobio pursed his lips. “What about before that?”

“Yachi talked to me about that. She thinks it would be a good idea for him to work with the animals while he’s getting settled, until he can start training. She thinks it’ll help him with shapeshifting. And you,” he continued, at the face Tobio had made at the mention of Hinata’s shapeshifting (or lack thereof), “will continue working with Ennoshita as you have been.”

“…Right.” And because he didn’t know what else to say, “I understand.”

Daichi gave him a pitying, tight-lipped smile. “We just have to wait. Now get to bed, you look exhausted.”

“Of course.” Tobio turned to the door to leave, stopped, turned back around, bowed, and then rushed out as quickly as he could without breaking into a run.

 

\--

 

For Tadashi, gossip was a subject best kept away from.

By morning, everyone was talking about Hinata. When Tadashi came down for breakfast, the kitchen was louder than usual; Tanaka and Nishinoya were already back at it even this early in the morning, hounding Suga for information on “the newbie.”

“C’moonnnn, Suga-san!”

Suga didn’t even look up from where he was helping Asahi prepare breakfast. Around scrambling an egg, he said, “You’ll have to just meet him yourself.” And at the noise they both made, he added, “And I don’t want to see either of you scaring him! That means you, Tanaka.”

“Aww, man, I wasn’t going to,” he said, one arm slung around Noya’s shoulder. “What’d you say he was again?”

Suga pressed his lips together, suppressing a smile. He stayed looking resolutely at the pan. “Ask Yamaguchi.”

The two boys turned to Tadashi, who they seemed to have just realized was standing there. “Yamaguchi!”

He flinched at how loud they were, but tried for a smile. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. “Hey.”

They didn’t waste time with trivialities like saying _hello_ or _good morning, sorry we woke you up with our screaming_. Nishinoya asked, “What’s the newbie?”

Tadashi pushed past where the two stood in the middle of the kitchen. He opened the cabinet and started rifling around for glasses, getting ready to set the tables. As he pulled the cups out, he said, “Um, yesterday he told us he’s a shapeshifter.”

He wasn’t looking at them when they responded, but he could imagine their expressions pretty well.

“Shit, really?!”

“That’s so cool!”

Tadashi couldn’t blame them for their reaction; shapeshifters weren’t unheard of, but they were rare, and treasured because of their abilities. There were lots of monster types whose abilities could be passed on—vampires and werewolves could both turn humans, to name the two most common, and witchcraft and psychic abilities could, in some intense cases, be learned. But not shapeshifting.

The only creatures with even remotely similar powers were gods and sometimes demigods, and even that depended on the person individually. Other that that, there was no other creature that could change its appearance by will. In monster trafficking, shapeshifters went for a high price.

So, he understood the initial thought that it was cool, something to be excited about. But they also hadn’t seen Hinata’s expression while he explained that he’d never shapeshifted, and why. Hinata had made it clear, however unintentionally, that he was still ashamed of himself. He was obviously still coming to terms with the person he was versus the person he’d been brought up to _think_ he was.

Tadashi wasn’t a mind reader—or a psychic, for that matter—but he did think that Hinata had some personal barriers he was going to have to break through before he could learn to control his ability. He understood what that was like, having to face yourself when you’d spent your whole life up until then being told not to.

“Yamaguchi, can you hand me a plate?”

Tadashi bent down to the lower cabinets and pulled one out, handing it to Asahi across the stove. He was careful not to burn himself. Asahi smiled as he took it from him. “Thank you.”

“How much longer until the food is ready?” he asked, pulling out the rest of the plates while he was at it.

“Around ten minutes, I think.” Asahi put a pan over the plate he’d just been given, keeping the food under it warm. He’d unofficially become Karasuno’s part-time chef, with the occasional help of others.

Tadashi nodded absentmindedly, trying to continue the conversation as he counted how many plates they would need. _Asahi, Suga, Tanaka, Noya, Tsukki, Daichi, me…_

Noticing what he was doing, Asahi supplied, “Fourteen.”

Oh. That was right. Saeko and Akiteru were in the city for a couple of days. “Including Hinata?”

Asahi nodded. Fourteen people. That was better than the thirteen it used to be, although not by much. Tadashi took the stack of flower-painted plates to the two long tables they had set up in the dining room. He set a plate in front of each chair and wondered how long Hinata would be staying with them, or if he’d stay at all.

At breakfast, everyone came down to eat except for Hinata, which Nishinoya and Tanaka were both loudly disappointed about.

“Just let him sleep in,” Daichi said, trying to get them to calm down. “I know you’re excited to meet him, but he had a long day yesterday. We should let him sleep as long as he needs.”

A couple seats down, Kageyama was suspiciously quiet. Tadashi said nothing, but he took note of it. He was still trying to figure out why Kageyama was so hostile towards Hinata when they’d only known each other for a day and some change. If he were more comfortable, he’d ask either of them for an answer. But he wasn’t, so he was content to observe instead.

Next to him, Tsukki brushed a shoulder against him. “Let him sleep,” he said. “The less noise, the better.”

Tadashi couldn’t find it in himself to play along. He smiled slightly and took a sip of his drink to keep from talking. Tsukki had mastered the art of making snide remarks while he observed, but Tadashi hadn’t quite gotten the hang of that yet.

To avoid the subject of Hinata’s presence and lack thereof, Tadashi asked, “How’d you sleep, Tsukki?”

“Like the dead.” Tadashi started to say something, but Tsukki continued. “Literally, the dead. I dreamt about ghosts.”

“What, no zombies this time?”

“Unfortunately.” He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. Tadashi grinned; Tsukki only ever got like that with him, playing along in that dry way of his.

“That’s a shame.” A beat of silence. “Did the ghosts do anything in your dream?”

“Can’t say.”

That always meant that it was soon to be interpreted. Tsukki never liked describing things in full detail, and Tadashi understood. It was like how he never liked explaining how spells worked to people who couldn’t use magic. “Oh. Okay.”

At the end of breakfast, it was Yachi and Kiyoko’s turn to do dishes. Tadashi thought about staying behind to help them, but the look on Yachi’s face let him know he wasn’t needed. He followed Tsukki back to their room to get dressed for the day.

 

\--

 

“Shouyou.”

“Mm…”

A hand gently shook him. “Shouyou, wake up.”

He shrugged it off. “W’nna sleep…”

“There’s someone at your door.” A pause. “They’re about to knock to come wake you up.”

“Don’ care…”

As said, there came a beat at the door. A familiar, quiet voice called, “Ah, H-hinata-san?”

Shouyou pulled himself awake, recognizing belatedly that it was Hitoka that was knocking. He stumbled out of his futon and over to the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he greeted her on the other side.

“Oh! Um…” The blonde shifted where she stood. She was clutching a clipboard to her chest, a blue pen hooked around her left ear. “Daichi-san told me to wake you up, and tell you that your breakfast is waiting for you. We went ahead and ate without you, but it should still be warm, or you can heat it up if you want…” She seemed flustered.

Shouyou blinked. He was still waking up, but her words brought him fuller to consciousness. “Wait—breakfast?”

“Yes.” She seemed confused, and fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s downstairs in the kitchen.”

“You guys—you made me _breakfast_?”

“...Yes?”

He tried not to gape, but it was difficult. “You’re—you’re serious?”

“Sorry, do I not seem like I’m being serious…?” She started to apologize.

“No, no, that’s not it, I just…” He looked at her in awe, and glanced down the hallway as if he would see the aforementioned meal waiting for him. Not only did they save him and give him a place to stay, but they were _feeding_ him, too?

“You’re making her uncomfortable,” Kenma told him. At the words, Shouyou snapped his mouth shut and tried to appear more normal, or like he _hadn’t_ just found out that he’d stumbled upon the most hospitable group of people ever.

“Thank you for telling me, Hitoka-san,” he said, smiling. “I’ll be down soon!”

She smiled back and nodded, beginning to walk away. He closed the door and rushed to get changed out of his pajamas.

“Ken, this is the _coolest_ place _ever_ ,” he said matter-of-factly, sliding his pants on. He had to hop for a moment to pull them up over his hips.

Kenma politely wasn’t watching, too busy messing with the bookshelf. The room they had given him to stay in for the night was nearly empty except for a futon, a mirror, and a bookshelf, all spaced out evenly around the room. The bookshelf was half full, and now, Kenma ran his fingers over some of the spines, never staying on anything for too long. He tilted his head to read the titles, an action that reminded Shouyou too much that Kenma hadn’t always been a ghost.

When he was done changing, Kenma turned back around, and said, “I don’t like it.”

“I know, but what other choice do we have right now? They’re giving us a place to stay and food to eat without even charging us anything.”

Shouyou didn’t bother to mention that he was the only one of the two that actually needed either of those things. Kenma, had he not been stuck haunting Shouyou, would have been perfectly fine without a roof or meals. As fine as he ever was, really.

Kenma didn’t say anything, but he didn’t protest again that morning either. Once Shouyou was dressed, he hurried out the door, making his way downstairs where Hitoka said the kitchen was.

The funny thing about this place was that the bright orange house was just like any other, save the color: if he hadn’t seen the surrounding area, he would’ve thought it was just another middle-class suburban home. The only difference he could see was that it was built to house more than a mom, a dad, and two-point-five kids; the hallways seemed to be never ending, and there were so many doors, he was sure he’d get lost at some point.

The kitchen was surprisingly uncomplicated. He made his way to the fridge where he assumed his breakfast would be, and found a plate with a note written on it, _for Hinata_.

“Someone was thinking about you,” Kenma said. Shouyou stuck his tongue out at him jokingly and grabbed the plate. He heated up his food and made himself comfortable at one of the dining tables—for some reason, they had more than one table, which only seemed to more prove his idea that they were housing much more than the average.

“Sixteen seats,” his ghost mused over his shoulder. Shouyou didn’t respond, too busy eating, but he nodded to let the other know he was listening. “We only saw five people yesterday.”

After swallowing, he said, “There’s gotta be more people here than that. They run a circus, don’t they? Don’t you need, like, a billion people to put on something like that?”

“Not necessarily,” Kenma said. “And I don’t think everyone lives here.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head. “Why would they?”

“I don’t know…” Shouyou looked around, like that would help him come up with reasoning. “I guess I just figured they could afford it, since the place is so big and all. It’s almost as big as a motel! Or a mansion!”

Kenma looked away, but Shouyou could tell he was suppressing a smile. “Your food is getting cold.”

“Shit, you’re right!”

Just as he shoved a forkful into his mouth, he heard what sounded like someone running around upstairs, and then yelling. Just as there were footsteps on the stairs leading to the kitchen, Kenma said, “Someone’s coming down.”

From the stairwell emerged three men: one very short, one very tall, and one very bald. The short one’s hair spiked like he’d let it dry hanging upside down, and as he spoke to the other two, sharp canines stuck out of his mouth impressively. The bald one matched him as far as teeth went, but he was significantly taller, and more intimidating looking. The tall one, however, was the most intimidating of the group, with long hair in a bun, height over both of them, and pointed ears. He looked like he was in his twenties at least, while the other two looked only a little older than Shouyou.

They were deep in conversation when they strolled into the kitchen, the short and bald one talking animatedly about something that didn’t make any sense to Shouyou, the older-looking guy only chiming in every now and then to make a brief comment. None of them seemed to notice Shouyou at first, until the tall one caught him staring at them.

He blinked. “Oh, right—you must be Hinata.”

Shouyou looked at them like a deer caught in headlights. But after the words registered for the other two, he didn’t have time to look caught, because then there were two very excited and very loud boys leaning across the dining table to talk to him.

“So _you’re_ the new kid!” The bald guy said. He grinned, showing off his teeth. “Suga didn’t mention you were so young!”

Shouyou swallowed what he was eating to answer. “Suga-san talked to you about me? How’d you already know it was me?”

“We don’t get new guys all that often anymore,” the short one said, “so a new face is pretty obvious! But don’t worry, we don’t let the others bother you too much.” He put his hands on his hips proudly, and his friend nodded as if to confirm the promise.

“Hinata,” the tall one said, pushing up from behind the two others to talk to him. Shouyou tried not to cower too much, but he felt really small, sitting down in front of such a big guy. “Have you been introduced to anyone yet?”

He shook his head. “I just woke up, so…I mean! I know a few people, like Hitoka and Suga-san, but not anyone else…”

At the news, they all introduced themselves to him: the short one was Nishinoya Yuu, the tall one Azumane Asahi, and the bald one Tanaka Ryuunosuke.

“How old are you?” Nishinoya asked.

“Fifteen.”

He smiled like that was great information. “Tanaka and me are older than you.”

“Oh! By how much?”

“Only a year,” Asahi answered for them.

“Asahi-san,” Nishinoya whined, “you didn’t have to tell him.”

“Sorry, but he asked.”

Shouyou didn’t quite feel like he was intruding, but he wasn’t sure he was one hundred percent welcome either. He finished the rest of his breakfast before pushing his plate away and standing up. “It’s nice to meet you guys.”

“What’re ya so formal for?” Tanaka asked. “You’re staying with us for a while, there’s no need for any of that shit.”

Shouyou didn’t mean to, but he felt his eyes widen. “I’m—staying?”

“Of course!” Nishinoya smiled. “Haven’t you gotten the power point from Suga yet?”

“Man, I love it when he gives that. Suga explains it the best.” Tanaka nodded appreciatively.

“The power point?”

“Ah, they’re just joking,” Asahi provided helpfully. “They just mean that Suga hasn’t given you the talk about staying yet.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Should I go find Suga then?”

“We can help you find him if you want,” Tanaka offered.

Nishinoya seemed to agree. “The place in all is crazy big, you could get lost.”

“Dude, didn’t _you_ get lost the first couple of weeks you were here?”

“Hell yeah I did.”

Shouyou was enjoying just watching them talk, honestly. Asahi’s disposition seemed different than what Shouyou had originally assumed, less scary than he was anticipating. And Tanaka and Nishinoya were fun to listen to, as they prattled on about how Daichi found Nishinoya lost and confused a few hours later, and other topics that Shouyou didn’t fully understand but enjoyed nonetheless. Not to mention, they seemed really cool, too.

The three of them escorted him to go find Suga. As they exited the kitchen and rounded into the hallway, Asahi glanced at him. “Yamaguchi said you mentioned you were a shapeshifter.”

“Oh, right.” He laughed, but it sounded uncomfortable even to him. “That’s what I am, haha.”

The other two boys decided now was the best time to jump into conversation. Tanaka started. “So it’s true that you’re really a shapeshifter?”

“...Yeah?”

Kenma told him, “There’s no need to sound like you’re lying, Shouyou. That’s the truth.”

How Kenma always knew exactly what to say and when to say it, Shouyou didn’t know, but he didn’t question it. He smiled his gratitude and reminded himself to say thanks when they were alone.

“That’s _awesome_ ,” Nishinoya said. He looked like he believed it, with a huge grin and eyes sparked with interest. “Is it, like, weird when you shapeshift? Is it the same as werewolf transformations? Does it ever hurt? Can you shapeshift into _anything_?”

Shouyou tried to answer them all. “Yes, maybe? Sometimes, and I don’t really know. I’m kind of…new to it.”

“Can you shapeshift for us right now?” The question came from Tanaka and caused an immediate pit in Shouyou’s stomach. He didn’t want to have to go through the humiliating process of explaining it again.

“Tell them you’re too tired right now,” Kenma advised. “You can’t do it right after waking up.”

“I’m—I can’t,” Shouyou said, a little too loudly. Tanaka and Nishinoya blinked at him, already beginning to look disappointed. Quickly, he continued, “I can’t ‘cause—I’m—too tired. It’s difficult to do right after I wake up. So, um, maybe later?”

They both nodded like that made loads of sense, and seemed to take that for an answer. The three of them continued out of the house, following a path that lead through the back of the lot Shouyou couldn’t see the fair grounds from where they walked, but he couldn’t wait to explore later on.

“Man, I wish I could change into anything,” Tanaka said. “That’d be so cool.”

Nishinoya grinned. “But you’re hella cool as you are.”

Tanaka gasped gently. “Bro.”

Was it rude for Shouyou to ask them what monster types they were? The way they spoke was so vague, he couldn’t get one thing, but he didn’t want to wait the entire walk there only to not find out.

After nearly tripping on a loose root in the walkway, Shouyou asked, in a rush, “What kinds of monsters are you guys?”

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be offensive. Tanaka slung an arm around Nishinoya’s shoulder, a feat very easily performed with their height difference, and declared, “We’re werewolves!”

“And Asahi-san’s a vamp,” Nishinoya finished, jutting his thumb at the man in question.

“Really?” Shouyou nearly tripped over another root jumping in his excitement. “That’s—awesome! Do you, like, have a pack that you run with or anything?”

“Karasuno’s the only pack we need,” Nishinoya said, and Tanaka nodded solemnly, but Shouyou couldn’t tell if they were being serious or not. Asahi ignored them in favor of pointing out a building they were approaching.

“Suga should be training in there right now,” he said. Shouyou stretched to get a good look at the building through the trees. It was large, and very plain looking. He probably couldn’t have guessed what it was, were he asked to. “He’ll explain everything to you.”

Shouyou nodded. “Right. Thank you!”

“Any time.” The smile that accompanied the response was genuine. Shouyou couldn’t help but to smile back.

 

\--

 

The inside of the building seemed to be a gym, with high ceilings, the smell of sweat, and fancy equipment set up that Shouyou had no clue how to use. The walls were orange, matching the house, and the entrance’s were decked with what seemed to be intricately decorated masks, some in glass cases like awards, and some just hanging on by a nail.

All of them were beautiful, but one in particular caught his eye. The mask was made to cover only half the wearer’s face, with a beak like a bird and dark eyelashes painted onto the surface. The cheeks and nose were covered in black feathers, but there were no eyeholes.

“Whoa,” he said out loud, because they were alone, and Kenma was admiring it with him. “How would anyone see out of this?”

“I don’t think they could,” Kenma answered.

“It’s really pretty.”

Shouyou felt his ghost glance at him briefly. “You like it.”

“Of course I like it, just _look_ at it! It’s so cool—“ He gestured towards it, but underestimated how close he was. The back of his hand banged against the mask, and the force of it knocked it off its perch on the nail.

“Shit!“ He caught it in time, but just barely. Holding the mask close to him so he wouldn’t drop it again, he sighed in relief. “That was really close.”

The door that led into the gym area swung open. Shouyou had just enough time to look shocked before he met eyes with Kageyama.

The vampire wasted no time before his characteristic glare was back in place. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Shouyou straightened up, and tried to look like it wasn’t abnormal that he was holding the mask. “I’m looking for Suga-san.”

Kageyama stared at him for a moment before breaking eye contact to rub the back of his neck with the towel he’d been holding. He was dressed down in workout clothes, and Shouyou was surprised for a moment to realize that meant he was some kind of athlete.

Seeing that the other wasn’t going to say anything, Shouyou asked, “Do you know where Suga-san is?”

Disinterestedly, Kageyama brushed past Shouyou, not even noticing the mask, and jerked his head in the direction of the gym door. He slammed the locker door on his way out. Shouyou scowled at the sound.

“He’s such a jerk,” he mumbled, turning back to the wall to hang up the mask again. “I don’t get why he has to be so mean and scary all the time, Ken. It’s so—so— _frustrating_!”

“You’ve known him for a day.”

“Yeah, and he’s done nothing but try to fight with me in that day!” Shouyou huffed, leaning up and hooking the back of the mask on the nail. “What was that thing yesterday, with trying to get me to _prove_ that I’m a shapeshifter? Ugh…”

Kenma was surprisingly quiet for a moment. Right after Shouyou finally got the mask to stop swinging from its perch, his ghost said, quietly, “I think he was scared.”

“Scared of _what_?”

“You’ve not been with other monsters before, Shouyou,” he reminded the other gently. “You don’t get what it’s like, not being able to trust humans and often not even other monsters. And, you can’t blame him for assuming you were a human that was just lying.”

“But why would I even lie about something like that?” Shouyou frowned, distressed. He’d been thinking about this since last night, and he still couldn’t figure it out.

“Humans have done it before,” Kenma answered. “And this place seems to be monster-only. To have a human try to find a way in would be worst case scenario for him.”

They stood together for a moment, Shouyou thinking over the words. He could understand it, sort of, if he looked at it from Kageyama’s point of view—but that didn’t mean the guy had to be such a jerk about it, and that didn’t mean Shouyou had to forgive him or play _nice_ or anything! Just because his reason was valid didn’t mean he had a right to react like he did, and Shouyou was sticking by that belief.

Still, he was impressed by how quickly Kenma had picked up on that, and he voiced that opinion. Kenma looked away, the way he did when he was embarrassed but didn’t want to admit it.

“I don’t have anything to do but watch,” he said.

The door opened for the second time since Shouyou had been there. This time it wasn’t Kageyama, but Suga who caught sight of the shapeshifter still looking at the masks.

“Oh, Hinata-san,” Suga greeted. He was dressed similarly to how Kageyama had been, in workout clothes and with a water bottle clutched in his right hand. He was still breathing heavily, clearly just finished training. “How’d you get here?”

“Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Asahi walked me,” he said. “They said I should get a power point from you or something? About staying, they said.”

Suga’s lip twitched up in a grin. “Don’t worry, it’s not really a power point. I just need to talk to you about how you’re proceeding from here and why you’re here in the first place—besides that you needed a bed to sleep in tonight. Let me get changed really quickly and we can get Daichi too.”

Shouyou remembered meeting Daichi yesterday, but only very briefly. He’d been very tired, and had hardly said anything the entire time they were explaining the events of the night. Still, he’d not had a bad impression of the man when they’d met; he seemed kind of scary when he was being strict, maybe, but other than that, he was looking forward to talking to him again.

It took Suga five minutes and some change before he reemerged from the locker room, Kageyama behind him. The taller boy said nothing to Shouyou as they left the gym, and departed from them a couple minutes down the road without so much as a good bye. Shouyou huffed, but didn’t complain to Suga.

“So, Hinata,” Suga started, “you’ve met some people already?”

“Just those three,” he answered.

“What’d you think? Tanaka and Nishinoya can be kind of a handful sometimes.”

“No, they weren’t at all!” Shouyou grinned. “They were all really cool, even though Asahi-san was kind of scary-looking at first…”

Suga laughed. “He’s kind of like that when you first meet him, yeah.”

“How come there are so many seats at the dining tables?”

The change in topic made the other pause for a moment before answering. “There are lots of us.”

“Sixteen of you?”

He nodded. “Sixteen of us.”

“You don’t go crazy living with them and, like, being around them all the time and stuff?” Shouyou, growing up where he had, was used to sharing space with others, but the situation had never felt like they lived together so much as they were stuck together; and besides, the orphanage had been big enough. Karasuno’s house, while certainly not small, was cozier, and seemed more intimate a place to share with sixteen people.

“We have our moments,’’ he admitted, “but we’re overall just a big family.”

Shouyou remembered Hitoka having said something like that, and there was a pang in his chest for a brief moment, before he shoved it down and continued following Suga. They were nearing the house again.

Daichi was in his office when they got there, sitting at a table in the middle of the room and looking very much in need of a break. His face immediately lit up when he saw who was at the door.

“Hinata’s come to get the run down from us,” Suga said in lieu of greeting. Shouyou appeared around the doorframe to see Daichi, who was watching them both with interest.

Daichi was a handsome man, with short dark hair, a stocky build, and ears to match Suga’s. He considered the two of them for a second, before he motioned inside the room and said, “I was wondering when we were going to do that.”

Shouyou awkwardly took a seat at one of the chairs in front of the desk, Suga sitting to his right. He had never felt so much like he was at a parent-teacher conference than in this moment. “So, um, what’s ‘the run down’ that everyone keeps talking about?”

The two men exchanged looks, before they seemed to decide who would explain first. Daichi won out for the time being. “Right now, you have two choices: you can leave in a few days when you’re ready, or you can stay permanently.”

Shouyou opened his mouth, but Daichi put up a hand to signal he wasn’t done.

“With the first option, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need until you can get back on your feet again. You won’t owe us anything for the room or food or anything else you have here. You’ll rest, get ready, and head out on your own when you feel you’re prepared to.

“With the second option, you would be given a room, probably the one you’re already sleeping in. You’d be given jobs around the circus to help out, so you would be working, but you’d be allowed to live with us for an indefinite amount of time. Granted, if you change your mind later, you’re free to leave, but for the time being, we’d assume you’re planning to stay.”

“You already know Karasuno is a circus,” Suga said. “And if you haven’t picked up on it already, every one of us is some type of monster. Most of us are orphans, and very few have any blood family left. But like I said—Karasuno _is_ our family now.”

Daichi picked up where the other stopped. “We—Suga, Asahi, and I—created Karasuno with the hopes of making a home for monsters that had been abandoned by the rest of the world. We’re still a circus, so we do move around, and we do perform, but before anything else, we are a safe space. You wouldn’t have to participate in shows if you didn’t want to—although we would always be open to training you—but, like I said, you _would_ still be working.”

Shouyou blinked after a moment, trying to process the information they’d just given him. “Wait, so—you take in orphan monsters?”

“Yes.” They both nodded.

“And you give them a home?”

Another nod.

“…Whoa.”

Suga said, “That wasn’t a coincidence that we found you last night. We go ‘scouting,’ searching streets or places where homeless monsters might spend their time to find anyone that might need our help. We were looking for you.”

That was an odd word to use, “scouting,” Shouyou thought. It made him feel like he’d been chosen especially for a fancy college or something. “You were…looking for me,” he repeated.

“Shouyou,” Kenma mumbled. Shouyou glanced at him quickly to let him know he was listening, but the ghost didn’t continue.

“We were,” Daichi confirmed.

“And you want me to stay here? Like, forever?”

“For as long as you want to. If that means forever, then yes.”

_“Shouyou_ ,” Kenma repeated, almost hissing now. He wasn’t moving, but his eyes were trained steadily on Daichi, and his voice had an edge to it. He tugged on Shouyou’s sleeve with a cold hand. “We need to talk about this, please…”

Suga and Daichi were looking at him. In his effort, to listen to Kenma, Shouyou had missed what they had asked of him, and now, they waited patiently for an answer. Shouyou fidgeted in his seat for a second.

“Um…” He glanced down. “Can I have some…time to think it over?”

Daichi nodded and took his elbows from off the table, making to stand up from his desk. “All the time you need.”

Suga stood up as well, signaling they were leaving, and Shouyou rushed to follow. “I can give you a tour of the whole place, or we can introduce you to everyone else if you’d want.”

For a moment, Shouyou thought about it. He wouldn’t have minded meeting everyone, and he certainly wouldn’t have minded a tour for that matter, but the rush in Kenma’s voice spooked him. Instead of saying yes, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and explained, “I’m still really tired right now, I’m sorry…but can we do that a little bit later?”

“Any time you want.” He smiled. “Just come find me when you’re ready. Do you need help finding your way back to the guest room?”

“I’ll be okay,” he said, knowing he was speaking quickly but unable to stop it. “Thank you again, Suga-san, Daichi-san, I really appreciate everything!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He smiled at them one last time so as not to be rude before disappearing out the room and around the hallway. He hurriedly retraced their steps, speed walking because running looked too obvious. Kenma wasn’t saying anything, and that only made him feel worse.

Five minutes later, they were back in his rental room. The moment the door closed and locked behind them, he said, “Kenma, what’s wrong? What’s up?”

His ghost stayed quiet for a moment. He didn’t flicker, but instead seemed to fade, like his image was growing weaker as the silent seconds slid between them. Shouyou took a step forward, but didn’t touch the other boy. Gentler this time, he repeated, “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t stay,” Kenma finally managed to say, but it came out breathy and mumbled. He was looking at his feet, his hair falling in his face and blanketing him, keeping Shouyou from seeing his expression. “Please.”

“Is it still Suga?” Shouyou kept his voice gentle, but he took another step forward. “I thought you said that he wasn’t bothering you anymore?”

“It—it’s…”

Noticing Kenma’s struggle, Shouyou took his arm and lead them to the futon. They sat down side-by-side, and Shouyou looked at him, staying quiet and waiting patiently. When Kenma was able to form words again, what came out was, “It’s Daichi this time.”

Shouyou blinked, and then frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “Daichi-san is making it happen now? What about last night? It didn’t happen then, did it?”

He shook his head. He was frowning too. “I don’t think so, but…”

“Is it just because you don’t want us to stay?”

“No.” Kenma was quick to dispel that belief. “No, that’s not it.”

The room was surprisingly cold. While they were speaking, Shouyou pulled one of the blankets off the futon and draped it over the two of them, enveloping Kenma in it as well. Kenma scooted into the warmth and closer to Shouyou, and he seemed to relax a little, the tension in his muscles releasing just the smallest bit. Shouyou wondered if his body actually did that, being non-corporal and all, or if that was entirely his mind making that happen.

“But you _don’t_ want us to stay,” Shouyou said. He wrapped the blanket around him tighter. “Right?”

“I don’t.” It was easy enough to admit. The two boys’ knees brushed, and Kenma sighed, yet another living gesture he’d taken with him beyond the grave.

“Because of Daichi?”

“Because I don’t trust them.”

Shouyou frowned. “But you seemed to like everyone earlier…”

Kenma pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on the top of his knees solemnly. Realizing he wasn’t going to get a response from that, Shouyou prompted, “You seemed to, until…what? Did you get a bad feeling about the place or something?”

“It feels dangerous,” his ghost replied, wind chimes. The arms around his knees tightened. “You don’t feel safe here.”

“And what about you?”

Kenma blinked, as if to ask _what about_ _me?_

“Are you safe here?” Shouyou elaborated. It seemed a silly thing to ask a ghost, who was at any given time at rock bottom, and therefore could virtually not get hurt. But he needed to know. Kenma was his best and closest friend, even if he was dead and technically haunting Shouyou. If Kenma didn’t think he was safe, Shouyou didn’t care about anything else.

“…I don’t know.”

That one was tougher to admit.

Shouyou nodded. “We don’t have to stay, then.”

“But—“

“I’m not going to stay here if you think you wouldn’t be or feel safe with everyone.”

They held eye contact, but Shouyou won the staring contest when Kenma lowered his head and let his shoulders drop, leaning further into the blanket. “You’re so stubborn.”

“It’s endearing, though, right?” He smiled. Kenma didn’t answer, but Shouyou hadn’t expected him to. Instead, he continued, “The only issue is that we can’t leave right away. If we aren’t going to stay, then we need to figure out what we’re going to do when we actually leave, and then plan and whatever. They said we’re free to stay and make our decision, so…”

For what felt like a good minute, neither said anything, Kenma thinking and flickering, and Shouyou sitting and waiting. Just as he’d started debating getting up and taking a morning shower, Kenma said, “If you really do want to stay here…I’m not going to stop you.”

That hadn’t been the expected response. Shouyou blinked, taken out of his fantasy of hot, running water. “But I thought you just said it was dangerous?”

“It is.” He frowned. “Might be. We can…stay. And figure it out. If you want to.”

“You’re willing to give this place a chance?”

Kenma nodded like he was already regretting offering that. Shouyou’s face split into a grin, and he couldn’t help it when he threw his arms around Kenma in a hug. “That’s great! That means we have time to figure out what we’re doing!”

In truth, Shouyou, while completely willing to leave if it meant they were both safe, hadn’t wanted to believe that Karasuno was dangerous to him. He’d been excited when Suga and Daichi had offered for him to stay, nearly speechless from the news; having a place to live and a job, however makeshift, sounded nice. Having a family sounded even better.

Now all they had to do was make the call.

“…You’re squeezing too tight, Shouyou.”

“Oh—sorry!”

 

\--

 

“Dammit,” Bokuto Koutarou cursed, “where is he?”

The sun was still rising, casting a low light over the scene. The horizon, painted red and orange, warned of a storm that day, and ominous clouds already began to loom in the distance, pregnant with rain. December weather, foggy and wet and cold, but not cold enough to turn the wet into snow. Koutarou personally couldn’t wait for the weather to warm up; he didn’t really like the cold, and he _especially_ didn’t like it when he was locked out of an apartment building at six a.m. on a Saturday morning.

Next to him, Akaashi Keiji, a boy with pale skin, dark hair, and horns to match, huffed quietly. “He said he’s on his way, Bokuto-san.”

“C’mon, Akaashi, that was an _hour ago_ ,” he whined. He definitely wasn’t dressed ready for the weather, a mistake born from nothing else but pride.

“Didn’t he give you the spare key?”

Koutarou took his turn huff. “I mean, _yeah_ , but we haven’t been here in so long, I just sorta figured…”

“You threw it away,” Akaashi deadpanned.

“Sorry?”

The younger boy said nothing else, but looked at his phone where it buzzed in his pocket. His tail twitched in irritation at the noise; Koutarou tried not to make it obvious that he paid attention to things like that, but he’d never been good at being subtle.

“He’s almost here,” Akaashi said, apparently relying the message he’d just gotten.

“Thank _god_!”

Akaashi shook his head at Koutarou’s outburst, but it didn’t seem annoyed so much as it seemed he was used to it. Considering how long they’d known each other, it only made sense that he could put up with Koutarou better than almost anyone.

Five minutes later, a black car pulled into the parking lot in front of the apartment complex. Koutarou perked up immediately, raising his hand in the air in a wave. The figure getting out of the car slammed the door and waved back.

Kuroo half-jogged his way across the lot to them, already fumbling to get his keys out as he approached. He smiled at the two friends as he got closer, but it was dull. Koutarou had grown used to the dullness that had accompanied his expressions in the past years, so it no longer jarred him when he saw how it never reached Kuroo’s eyes the way it used to, the grins and snarky laughs far from genuine. Even still, Koutarou refused to comment on it.

“Hey, guys,” Kuroo greeted, and hurried to get let them inside. The moment the door opened, the three scurried in, and up the elevator to Kuroo’s apartment. The elevator doors sliding shut, he said, “You two came quick.”

“We had nothing better to do,” Akaashi answered. The floor number increased, 1, 2, 3…

Kuroo let out a sharp laugh; still off. “Well, I’m glad I can at least keep you preoccupied then.”

The elevator dinged as they stopped at floor number five, and they shuffled out, Koutarou and Akaashi carrying their luggage with them. Kuroo had nothing with him but his gym bag and his keys, and he slung the bag over his shoulder out of the way as he unlocked his apartment door.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said, sounding only half sarcastic. Koutarou was the last in, closing the door behind him and slinging his bag on the ground.

As they got settled in, Koutarou couldn’t help but to ask, “What’dya call us here for, anyway?”

The question had been bugging him the entire twelve-hour drive over. When Kuroo had called and asked they come see him as quickly as possible, he hadn’t explained what they were needed for, or how long they were staying. But Koutarou was nothing if not a loyal friend, and Akaashi was nothing if not an angel for coming along too, so they rushed over without even questioning it.

Now, though, Koutarou mulled the question over, and let it itch on his tongue until it came out. Whatever they were there for, it wasn’t a Christmas party, that he was sure of. No; Kuroo had been too serious lately, too much like he was reverting back to before, and he’d sounded too desperate when he’d asked them to drive over.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Kuroo didn’t smile, but there was a glimmer of one, and for a very, very brief moment, Koutarou saw the old expression he would’ve made: a sarcastic, blinding, shit-eating grin.

“Either of you interested in hunting a bastard down?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let us know if anyone seems ooc at all! some of its on purpose, but this is also grays first time writing most of these charas in depth lmao, so advice is appreciated


	6. fought it a lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know about you."
> 
> \--
> 
> kageyama's intimidating, yamaguchi's a saint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a little longer than normal!! life's been hectic for both of us since its the end of the quarter and yada yada. this chapter is a little longer than the last one + more Plot Things happen so hopefully that makes up for the wait :'D

The next day, Shouyou ate breakfast with the rest of Karasuno. It was very eventful, and very loud, and very fun to watch, despite the fact that not everyone was there—some slept in, and apparently a few members were in town right now, but he was reassured he’d get introduced to them eventually. Kenma stayed quiet, but he had that look on his face that meant he was analyzing everyone around him, so Shouyou guessed that was better than him freaking out the way he had been.

After breakfast, Shouyou returned to his room to get dressed. Just as he was finishing putting his shoes on, he got a knock on his door.

“Oh, Hitoka!” He smiled when he saw her. She’d warmed up to him a bit more the past day, opening up and speaking more, stumbling over her words less.

“Hi, Hinata-kun,” she said. The clipboard from yesterday was gone, and so was the more professional look she’d donned. Now, she wore a knitted sweater, the crystal still hanging around her neck. She looked ready to head outside in the cold. “Um, I actually came to ask you something.”

He nodded for her to continue. “Shoot!”

“Do you like animals?”

An odd question, but who was Shouyou to say anything about odd questions? “Yeah, of course! Why do you ask?”

Hitoka stepped back into the hallway, and he took that as a cue for him to follow her, closing the door gently behind them. Out in the hallway, she touched a hand to the crystal, probably a habit to calm herself down. “W-well, Suga-san asked me earlier...if you would be interested in helping me take care of the animals.”

He thought about the conversation he’d had with Daichi and Suga yesterday, and figured this must be part of what they meant when they said “working.” “The animals?”

The blonde nodded. “Usually I do things by myself, or someone who isn’t busy helps around, but Suga thinks that it would be best for you if you started off…slow.” She shifted. “To get used to life here.”

He blinked, “Oh,” and then smiled. “Okay! So does that mean you’re like my teacher?”

“Y-you don’t have to call me that—!”

“But you are, right? ‘Cause you’re going to teach me how to take care of them and stuff! I’ve never had any pets or anything…”

Sometime between talking, the two of them had started towards the stairs, and now they made their way down and past the kitchen, where they could hear Nishinoya and Asahi doing the dishes. Kenma leaned past the doorway to get a better look at the two, but retreated when Shouyou and Hitoka started moving again.

“It’s not really the same as taking care of a pet,” she explained. “I mean, they’re sort of like pets, but there’s a lot of differences too…”

“Like what?” Shouyou held the door open for her. She walked under his arm and smiled in thanks as he followed after.

“Well,” she started, “they need a lot more attention, and a lot more care…”

Shouyou listened in interest as she continued explaining it while they walked. She led them down to the fairgrounds, past the empty tents and vacant, smaller arenas; the two saw other members of Karasuno on their way, and a few of them introduced themselves to Shouyou if they had time. On the way there, he met another werewolf named Ennoshita, and the witch, Shimizu, that Hitoka had sounded so fond of earlier.

When Shimizu came to speak to them, Hitoka smiled more than Shouyou had seen her before, blushing every time the older girl made eye contact with her. The air around them suggested to Shouyou that he wasn’t the important component in that interaction, but he wasn’t offended; rather, it was nice to see Hitoka that way. She wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but she did seem happier, and stayed that way even after Shimizu had left.

“Is she the one you said found you before you got here?” he asked, once the witch was out of earshot.

Hitoka’s face turned pink, but she answered, “Yeah, she brought me here…but, um, we should get going.”

Their destination was a large tent that smelled like cut grass and sunlight, but he wasn’t sure how they kept it smelling so nice when it was crawling with more animals than he’d ever seen in his life. Hitoka smiled when they entered, like there was no other place she’d want to be, and gestured for him to follow her further inside.

“Be careful,” she said, “they can be wary of new people sometimes. Walk slow.”

He did as she told, and took the time to look around. The tent, he realized, was bigger inside than he’d imagined it would be, and he saw no cages, only a few pens with the doors opened. Tigers lounged around on elevated platforms, most likely put there for that exact purpose; rabbits hopped under foot and looked at him curiously, but undaunted; bears slept in big piles of dark fur to the back. Black birds—crows, he thought—cawed at each other, and they made what sounded to him like fond noises when Hitoka passed. She waved at them.

As they pushed past a curtain into the second half of the tent, he asked as quietly as he could, “Why don’t they have, like, cages and stuff? You just let them run around?”

She nodded. “They don’t have a reason to be in cages, it’s not good for them. So they’re allowed as much space as they need.”

Shouyou didn’t say anything in response, too shocked by the sight that greeted them on the other side of the curtain to bother. Hitoka didn’t falter like him, but moved forward and spoke in that placating voice she’d used to greet the other animals.

“Hey, big girl,” she said, bringing a hand up to pet the side of a very large, and very multi-headed black dog. “Have you had a good day?”

The dog wagged both her tails eagerly, and one head came over to lick Hitoka’s cheek fondly. Hitoka squealed away from her, laughing; the dog’s tongue was nearly the size of Hitoka’s torso. “Gross, Orthrus!”

Kenma cringed at the giant creature. Shouyou sent him a questioning look, but the only explanation he gave was, “I don’t like dogs.”

Shouyou, however, very much did, and after getting over his initial shock, was eager to pet the beast. Hitoka noticed his excitement and waved him over. “You can come on, Orthrus likes meeting new people.”

He nearly ran across the room to meet Hitoka. “Is that her name? Orthrus?”

“Mhmm.” Hitoka brushed back the dark fur on Orthrus’s side; the head farthest from Hitoka barked in excitement at Shouyou’s arrival. “You can pet her, she won’t bite you.”

He only had to be told that once. Orthrus’s fur was a lot softer than it looked, and he smiled at the dog when she wiggled where she sat in excitement at his presence. Even sitting down, she was nearly twice the size of Shouyou.

“She likes you,” Hitoka said, after Shouyou had received a lick of his own. Kenma wrinkled his nose at the action.

“I’m going to the room, Shouyou,” Kenma said. “Tell me what happens when you get back.”

Unable to respond, he just had to let his ghost leave on his own. Even though Kenma was haunting Shouyou, they didn’t technically have to be with each other all the time. Kenma said, once, that he thought it was sort of like having a rope tied between them. The rope, thankfully, was pretty long, so if something ever happened and they needed to not be together, they could separate, at least a certain amount. It just worked out that that hadn’t occurred yet, so they were rarely apart if they could help it.

“He must really not like dogs,” Shouyou mused under his breath.

“What?”

“Oh, uh, nothing.” He looked around for a quick change of topic, just realizing the other occupants of the room. “Um, so, what are all the…other animals?”

Hitoka looked around like he had, at the other magic creatures besides Orthrus that resided here. Shouyou recognized a phoenix falling asleep, perched on the back of a larger, bird-like creature he couldn’t put a name to. Behind them was a pile of scales that he wasn’t sure he entirely wanted to see. None of the animals seemed dangerous, at least not from the drowsy, comfortable way they sat around Hitoka.

“We keep the magic creatures in a separate area,” she said, “because they don’t seem to…get along with the others as well. Separated, they’re very well-behaved and loving, but something about being all together makes them anxious.”

“Oh.” He turned his attention away from the phoenix back to Orthrus; both of her gigantic tongues lolled out of her mouth, panting, and he could just barely see the tips of her fangs. They were sharp, incredibly impressive, and made for killing—an odd thing to see in the mouth of such a sweet animal. “Do you train them?”

“We do,” Hitoka said. “Oh, but—don’t worry, we don’t hurt them or anything! All of it takes a very long time and a very strong bond with the animals, but we have magic to help, and they’re all really sweet.”

“I can see that.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, before Hitoka seemed to remember what they were there for in the first place. “I should introduce you to the rest of them before I start teaching you anything.”

A phoenix, a griffin, a two-headed dog, a dragon, and the dragon’s newly born were the residents of the second half of the tent. The dragon, despite being very large and very scary looking, didn’t even so much as blink at Shouyou before going back to sleep. Her baby, an unbelievably small thing in comparison to the mother, took more of an interest in him, though. The phoenix, when he wasn’t asleep, was looking at Shouyou and preening itself.

“They like you,” Hitoka told him. “Do animals usually do that?”

“Most of the time,” he admitted. “I mean, I wasn’t really around many growing up or anything, but…”

Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember meeting an animal that hadn’t immediately taken a liking to him. As a kid, he’d always taken it just to mean that he was lucky, or maybe just that he seemed trustworthy. But now, it dawned on him that it was because they could tell what he was.

The blonde witch crouched down to the floor, extending her palm gently for the baby dragon. The baby chirped and pressed her nose into Hitoka’s hand, sniffing curiously, before she decided that the witch was to be trusted. She rubbed her head against the offered palm, much like a cat would.

“Suga thinks this will help you with your shapeshifting,” Hitoka admitted, watching the dragon with soft eyes that made it clear she really cared about these animals. Then her eyebrows furrowed, and she frowned. “But I’ve never been a teacher before, and…”

“You don’t think you can help me?”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant, that I’m not sure I’m going to be a good enough teacher, and you deserve someone that’s…better at this than I am.”

“You’re a great teacher.”

She gave him a confused look. “But I haven’t taught you anything yet.”

“Sure you have.” Shouyou bent down so he was crouched next to her, and extended his palm slowly, the way she had. The baby pulled her head off Hitoka’s palm and curiously hopped towards Shouyou’s. After a moment of sniffing him, she seemed to decide he was worthy, and nuzzled his palm. She gave a trill like a purr, and Shouyou smiled back at Hitoka. “See?”

Hitoka stared at him, before she blinked and looked down, reaching across to pet the dragon. She seemed to be lost in thought, absently stroking her fingers across the baby’s head.

“So, you _will_ teach me, right?”

She glanced at him from the side and smiled. “I will.”

 

\--

 

“Kageyama!” Nishinoya raised his hand in a high five, and Tobio hesitantly finished it. “Good work today!”

Tobio nodded. “Thank you.”

Nishinoya was an incredible athlete, with a lot of potential and absolutely no way to mentor Tobio. He worked purely on instinct, and so any advice was almost completely useless; often, instead of helping Tobio understand better, it just made him all the more confused. Regardless, Nishinoya tried to give critique when he could, and supported Tobio. Tanaka was like that too; the two of them seemed to have a thing regarding their kouhais. Tobio figured they just liked not being the youngest.

“I’m heading in,” Nishinoya said, toweling off his hair. He was already short, but without the extra inches his spiked hair added, he looked even smaller. Sometimes it was weird for Tobio to stand next to him; such a tiny body, and yet he was probably one of the best acrobats Tobio had ever seen. “You coming?”

“I’m staying a little longer.”

The werewolf nodded, already heading for the locker rooms. “Don’t push yourself too hard!”

“I won’t,” Tobio said, but the door was already shutting behind him. Nishinoya understood the need Tobio had to train as much as he could, which was a relief, because Suga and Daichi both seemed less than happy with the way he’d been “treating his body” recently.

“You can’t keep going like this,” Daichi had chastised on more than one occasion. “Your body needs rest. I know you want to get better, but there’s no point in burning yourself out.”

“I’m not burning myself out,” he’d said, but it always sounded like a lie, even to him. He wasn’t reckless the way they seemed to think he was—he still slept and ate (when he could)—but he’d been feeling the toll on his body recently. He’d been slowing down, his hearing no longer as sharp as it used to be, his reflexes lagging: all things that he _needed_ to keep if he wanted to stay working at Karasuno. Daichi would never kick him out, but Tobio was too prideful to take charity. If he was going to stay at Karasuno, he needed to be working towards something.

Sugawara checked on him every now and then, to make sure he was eating. That was the one thing that Daichi would rarely bring up around Tobio; he figured it had to do with the fact that, while Suga and Tobio had been born into vampirism, Daichi had been turned. It’d been somewhere around twenty years since then, and he still wasn’t completely comfortable with it.

Every time Suga asked, Tobio assured him he was still feeding. Sometimes, Suga would drop it at that, and others he would give Tobio a look that made it clear he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“You’re paler than usual,” he would say, or he’d just slide a bag across the table and wait until Tobio downed it all, like a parent making sure their child eat their vegetables. That was another thing: he didn’t get why he was treated like a kid so often. Just because he was a little reckless with his health didn’t mean that he was stupid enough to _not_ feed.

Sugawara had taken Tobio under his wing since day one. Tobio appreciated it—he didn’t think he’d ever be able to repay Suga for what he did—but he’d never been that good with people, and so Suga was less of a friend and more of a mentor. Over time, Tobio had gotten a little better with relationships (being stuck with the same fifteen people twenty-four-seven would do that to a person), but the dynamic of theirs had stayed the same. At this point, it was welcomed.

Which was part of why Tobio came to Suga about what Daichi had said.

He didn’t wait to ease into the conversation, instead choosing to fill the brief moment they had alone to talk with a frown and the conversation starter, “Daichi wants me to work with Hinata.”

Sugawara didn’t respond for a moment, thinking it over. When he was done taking that information in, he crossed his arms, looking at Tobio contemplatively. “You’re upset about it?”

“Of course I’m upset about it.” He frowned even more. “Why wouldn’t I be? Hinata is—“

“Not as bad as you think he is.”

“But…”

Suga gave him an understanding look. “I know you don’t trust him right now, Kageyama, but I promise you, he isn’t a bad kid, and he isn’t lying.”

“We don’t know that.”

“What would he have to gain from lying about it?”

Tobio paused. “That’s what we would find out.”

“Kageyama.” A warning tone.

He looked away, feeling like a toddler who just got scolded. “I don’t like him.”

“You’ve made that clear so far.”

He only huffed.

Suga uncrossed his arms and put them on his hips instead, expression going from understanding to stern. “Regardless of whether or not you like him, you’re going to have to learn to work with him. We’re not asking you to be best friends—you just need to cooperate. You do that already right now with Nishinoya and Tanaka, don’t you?”

“Sure, but I trust them. And they aren’t…” He thought about the werewolves’ backwards way of mentoring and their love for Karasuno. “…All bad.” Unlike Hinata, who, as of right now, had no redeeming qualities as far as Tobio was concerned.

“You’re going to have to get over that.”

Tobio frowned.

Before he could protest again, Suga continued, “And besides, you don’t need to worry so much about it yet. We don’t even know if Hinata is staying or not yet.”

Tobio shouldn’t have been so surprised at that, but he’d assumed, from the way that Hinata had stayed longer than a night, that he had chosen to stay permanently. Almost everyone did. “What do you mean?”

“I’m giving him time to think it over and get used to life here before he makes a decision,” Suga said. “So until he gives us a concrete answer, you don’t need to worry so much.”

Daichi had said something similar, about adjusting to “life” at Karasuno: _He needs a long adjustment period,_ he’d said. _It’s going to be a big culture shock_. That seemed an odd thing to Tobio, that Hinata got the luxury of _adjusting_ before making a decision—the decision itself was a luxury, if he were being honest. Suga and Daichi had never forced Tobio to stay, but he hadn’t really had much of a choice either. It was either he stayed at Karasuno or he died.

Meanwhile, Hinata got a grace period to “think it over” and “get used” to how the world worked, as if the world gave a damn about waiting until he was “ _ready_.”

Tobio scowled even more.

Suga saw the expression and sighed quietly. “He really isn’t as bad as you think he is, Kageyama-kun.”

He found that hard to believe, but he didn’t say anything. “I’m going to the gym.”

“Don’t push yourself too much.”

The door closed behind him quietly.

 

\--

 

“Orthrus really seems to like you.”

Shouyou smiled at the mention of the beast, speed walking to keep up with Hitoka. They fell in line smoothly, and he asked, “Are we going to see her?”

“If you want to, of course.”

And that was that.

A week had passed at Karasuno, and already Shouyou had grown the most fond of his time with Hitoka. He liked everyone else just fine, sure, but there was something always so serene about the time they spent together; working with the creatures was surprisingly therapeutic. It helped that Hitoka had definitely grown more comfortable around him, opening up more and joking around. They hung around the animals most of the time, but he also accompanied her during her other jobs on occasion; Shimizu, Hitoka, and Daichi were the ones who managed Karasuno, with the help of a few others and every now and then. Shouyou was still so new to everything that even things they viewed as mundane were exciting.

The only downside was that, because Shouyou was spending so much of his time with the animals, Kenma spent less with him, choosing instead to hang around the other parts of Karasuno while Hitoka and Shouyou worked. He didn’t talk much about what he did when Shouyou wasn’t there, instead insisting he hear about the other’s day and disregarding any information on his own. Sometimes he’d give little blips of detail—“I watched them train” or “I stayed in the kitchen” or “I finished that book”—but rarely anything more than that.

Which was part of why it was so odd when Shouyou got back to their room and Kenma almost immediately started speaking. Shouyou was only halfway through a _you’ll never guess what Hitoka and I saw today_ when Kenma spoke.

“Shouyou,” he started, interrupting the greeting. “Do you know when Daichi was turned?”

The shapeshifter kicked his shoes off as he thought. “Um, I’m not sure? I didn’t even know Daichi was turned, I thought most vampires were born?”

“Most,” he answered, sounding distant. “Not all. Turning someone against their will is illegal, but it happens.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense…” Shouyou frowned and sat down on the futon, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Are…are you feelin’ okay, Ken?”

“Fine.” He didn’t sound it.

“What does it matter when Daichi was turned? And—how’d you know he was turned in the first place? Did he mention it or something?”

“I was near his office earlier,” Kenma mumbled. “Overheard him and Asahi.”

“And he said he was turned?”

“Something like it.”

“Okay. So what’s it a big deal when he was?” Shouyou leaned towards his ghost, still frowning and starting to get worried. Kenma didn’t sound urgent, but he didn’t exactly sound relaxed either; anything other than apathy, for him, was impressive.

“Asahi said it was twenty years ago,” he said in answer.

“I’m _really_ confused, Kenma, what’s wrong? So it was twenty years ago, what’s it matter?”

Kenma shook his head. “Nothing…I don’t know…”

Shouyou studied him for a moment. He didn’t get like this that often, unless… Shouyou gasped and excitedly asked, “Did you remember something?”

But he only got that same answer. “I don’t know.”

“…Oh.”

He tried not to let it show that he was disappointed, but knowing Kenma, he could tell anyway. Shouyou didn’t like to think that it was important whether or not they ever figured out Kenma’s past, but as the days passed, he grew frustrated with how little they knew; Kenma only remembered very small bits and pieces, like that he was a witch, or that he was eighteen and his name was Kozume Kenma—and then other things, like that they were connected to Karasuno, or that Kenma had known both Daichi and Suga at some point in his waking life, were _so huge_ that they fit into nothing. Every time they began building a picture of Kenma’s life, something new popped up and completely rearranged it.

Shouyou could never tell just how invested Kenma was in finding out about his old life, but he wanted to believe that Kenma cared just as much as Shouyou did.

It was a tough topic to bring up.

 

\--

 

Shouyou got along with everyone at Karasuno, save _one person_.

And, because Shouyou had never had luck on his side, who else would it be to hear him speaking to no one except that _one person_?

“Ken, I’m back! Dinner’s soon, so I’ll have to—“

He stopped mid-sentence at the sight on the other side of his door, a foot already in the room. Kageyama was standing near the foot of the futon, Kenma sitting cross-legged on the floor with a book on the carpet next to him, looking nervous. Shouyou had done his best to avoid Kageyama the past two weeks, only seeing him at mealtimes and when they happened to bump into each other, so he wasn’t prepared again for how menacing the vampire looked when scowling, his scars a striking flash of white across his face, like lightning. Shouyou had seen that look on numerous occasions, but that didn’t make it any less scary.

“Wh-what are you _doing_ in here?!” He pointed a finger at the taller boy accusingly, trying to cover up the way he’d just spoken to someone that, as far as Kageyama knew, didn’t exist.

It didn’t work. “Who were you talking to?”

“No one.” He put his hands on his hips in what he hoped was a defiant way and countered, “Who were _you_ talking to?”

“What?”

“Never mind, what are you doing in my room?” Shouyou crossed the room to the other boy, trying to keep the topic changed. He didn’t step too close to the vampire, but close enough that he didn’t seem as nervous as he felt. At least he hoped that was what it looked like. “The door was locked, how did you even…?”

“I unlocked the door,” Kenma answered, giving Shouyou an apologetic look. “I didn’t think anyone but you would try getting in.”

“It’s not _your_ room,” Kageyama said, completely ignoring the part about his presumed break in. His expression didn’t change, but his voice got harsher. “You don’t live here.”

Shouyou opened his mouth to protest, already forming a defiant _yes, I do!_ before he remembered that, technically, he’d still not made his official decision. He was more than sure that he wanted to continue living at Karasuno, but he’d been reluctant to tell Daichi that because Kenma was still learning to trust them, especially after hearing about Daichi being turned two decades ago. Shouyou didn’t know what it was, but that news had set Kenma back a bit; the number seemed to have freaked him out, although neither of them knew why. The past two weeks since their arrival had been a bit of a rollercoaster.

Instead, he settled with, “What do you want?”

Kageyama paused, just for a moment, and his jaw stiffened. He flicked his eyes away, and for a split second they landed on Kenma. Shouyou’s heart skipped a beat, thinking he could see Kenma somehow, before Kageyama’s gaze turned back to the wall. “Suga needs to talk to you.”

Shouyou paused, waiting for the rest of the news. When he realized that was all Kageyama was going to say on the matter, he blinked and asked, “That’s it?”

“Of course that’s it, dumbass,” Kageyama snapped. “What else would I come here for?”

“I’m _not_ a dumbass! And—and I don’t know, just not something like that!” Shouyou huffed. “I thought you’d be, like, creeping around my room or, I don’t know, something else weird.”

Kageyama stared at him for a moment. Underneath his scars, his cheeks heated up. “Shut up. I’m leaving.”

Shouyou let the other brush past him roughly in the direction of the door, and allowed himself a premature breath of relief at having successfully kept the subject off of Kenma. But he spoke too soon.

One hand paused on the door, Kageyama turned back and glared at Shouyou, the earlier embarrassment replaced with his characteristic annoyance. “You never answered who ‘Ken’ was.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The vampire studied him for a good few seconds, eyebrows furrowed in that habitual scowl. He let go of the door handle and took the few steps towards Shouyou; instinctually, Shouyou backed up, until Kenma had to move out of the way to avoid getting stepped on.

“I know about you,” Kageyama said, voice low in a way that was very effectively intimidating. Shouyou felt his pulse increase and panic rise in his throat. _He knows? He knows about what? Kenma?_

“W-what?” He voice matched his hands: shaking. _He knows, he knows._ Shouyou felt the fire in his fingertips, and he tried hurriedly to calm himself down. He wanted to prove that he could shapeshift, but not like _this,_ and Kageyama still wasn’t done…

“You think I haven’t noticed that you keep talking to yourself like there’s someone else there?” He took steps forward as he spoke, a finger coming up to poke Shouyou in the chest harshly. “Just because everyone else hasn’t figured out there’s something off about you doesn’t mean I haven’t.”

Shouyou took a deep breath as discreetly as he could, forcing himself to calm down. _He doesn’t know, he’s just being a jerk like usual_. When his breathing was even again, he steeled his expression. He wasn’t going to be pushed around by this jerk, even if he did risk the chance of having an episode right now. “There’s nothing _‘off’_ about me, you asshole, and—and I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

He was proud of himself for not letting his voice waver as he spoke, but Kageyama didn’t seem impressed, only more annoyed. “Liar.”

“I am _not_ a liar!”

Kageyama seemed to stop, and blinked twice. Shouyou, once he’d forced himself out of seeing red, realized it was because of his teeth—sharp and pointed and very much not what they had been before. They were heavy in his mouth, and when he spoke, his voice sounded different. “Shit…”

“What…?”

Shouyou waved a hand at the other. “Stop talking for a moment, I need to—just, stop. Hold on.”

Uncharacteristically obediently, the vampire did, and stayed quiet as he watched the way Shouyou forced his teeth to return to normal. That was one of the only things he’d been able to do, recently—return to normal. But he guessed that was a pretty lucky skill to learn if he was only ever going to learn one of them. It was better than changing during an episode and not being able to revert to normal. He used to have to wait it out; now, it took concentration, but he could usually manage with smaller things. Like teeth, for instance.

When they were safely back in his mouth, Kageyama scowled, like now that Shouyou’s attention was on him again he could return to being hostile, but he looked like he was masking curiosity. “What the hell?”

Shouyou debated explaining it for a moment, before landing on the conclusion that it would only be fair. Even if he didn’t like Kageyama, he _had_ seen what happened.

“I told you when I got here, I can’t control the shapeshifting, ‘cause it only happens with emotions and stuff…so I, you know,” he shrugged loosely, “shapeshifted just now. Since you were being a huge douchebag and making me angry.”

Kageyama scowled at the insult but chose to ignore it. “But you fixed it.”

He gave the taller a look. “Yeah…? Of course I did.”

“I thought you couldn’t…” Now that the conversation was less antagonistic, Kageyama looked uncomfortable, shifting where he stood like he wasn’t sure how to proceed. “…Control it?”

Shouyou pressed a thumb against one of his teeth, absentmindedly making sure they were still normal. “I can’t. I can only make it go back, I can’t do it on command.”

“…Oh.”

They stood looking at each other for a moment, before Shouyou felt his face split into a grin. “So do you believe me _now_ that I’m not lying?”

Unsurprisingly, the other didn’t respond. He frowned and turned back towards the door, like the confrontation hadn’t happened at all.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, “just go see Suga,” and all but slammed the door behind him.

 

\--

 

Sugawara Koushi was not having the best day.

This was for a number of reasons. One of them was because their choreographer was taking her sweet time in finishing the rest of the show—another being because said show was in a little less than two weeks. Koushi wasn’t the star athlete of Karasuno, but he was the one in charge of taking care of his kouhais, and he couldn’t even seem to do that recently.

Nishinoya and Tanaka were both strong athletes that took their work very seriously, but the excitement of Hinata’s recruitment and Tsukishima’s more than worrying visions left them all a bit…off. Kageyama was the only one who didn’t seem all that worried about it, but Koushi couldn’t decide whether this was a good thing—at the very least, if he were worried, he wouldn’t be pushing himself half the death.

The visions Tsukishima had been talking about had been nonsensical at first: images he couldn’t make out, events without any context, places he’d never seen before. Daichi couldn’t figure any of it out, and if he could, he couldn’t figure out what it had to do with them. Tsukishima seemed annoyed that Daichi was agonizing over it so much; “Sometimes things don’t have meaning,” he’d said. “They could be bullshit.”

“Nothing with you is bullshit.” And to be fair, Daichi had a point there; in the years since Tsukishima had joined Karasuno, every single one of his visions came true eventually.

A ghost was the main target of their worry. Dream after dream about one in particular, Tsukishima had reported, every night for the past two weeks. Yamaguchi suggested they try an exorcism—or at the very least, try speaking with it, if there was one around—but both Koushi and Asahi had thought that a brash thing to do, and no one was keen on making decisions if not everyone was on board. Daichi had chosen instead to wait until they knew more.

Daichi tried his best not to make it public information when he was shaken over something, saying that it wasn’t good for Karasuno’s morale.

“They don’t want to see their leader like this,” he’d half-laughed one night, the self-deprecating kind that meant he was thinking too much again.

Suga told him as such. “You’re thinking too much about it. No one would blame you for being upset.”

“You’re right, they wouldn’t blame me,” he agreed, “but do you think they’d find comfort in it either?”

“They don’t _need_ to be comforted.”

“Everyone needs to be comforted right now, Suga.” He threw an arm over his eyes, hiding in the crook of his elbow so Koushi could see nothing but the sad upturn of his mouth. “You heard what he said, didn’t you?”

Koushi shifted where he lay, the mattress creaking gently. They were lying side by side in the bed they shared. Despite Karasuno’s large size, almost everyone had a roommate. It only made sense they would room together. “Heard what who said?”

“Tsukishima. About the ghost.”

He released a breath from between his teeth, slowly. “No. What did he say?”

“He thinks the ghost’s a seer.”

Koushi was stunned into agonizing, panic-filled silence for a moment. When he found his voice again, he forced himself to croak. “Is that so?” But it fell flat at the end and lost its question mark, replaced by the answer they were both thinking.

As if it even needed to be voiced, Daichi said from under his arm, “You think we’re finally getting what we deserve?”

That snapped Koushi out of panic and into anger. “Daichi!”

“What?”

“Don’t _say_ things like that!” He bit, feeling stupid for saying it even as he continued speaking, “We’re not getting _anything,_ and we don’t ‘deserve’ _anything_!”

“Do you honestly believe that, Koushi?”

The use of his given name stopped him for a moment. It wasn’t like that was the first time Daichi had said it, but it was rare, and reserved only for moments like these, when things were serious or intimate or just for them. It forced him to clear his head long enough to calm down.

When he spoke again, he didn’t croak. “Yes, Daichi, I do, and I always have. I’m not arguing with you on that one, not when we don’t even know that it’s…” He stopped.

Daichi bit his lip like he was holding back from saying something more, which he probably was.

Gently, Koushi pulled his arm from off his eyes. “Look at me.”

He did. They held eye contact for a moment before Daichi let out a soft breath, halfway between a laugh. This one wasn’t tinged with self-loathing, although it was a little uncomfortable. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Koushi smiled. “We’re gonna be fine.”

Daichi looked at him—really looked at him, so much that Koushi fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Spine-tingling, maybe. Koushi bent down and pressed a kiss to Daichi’s lips, half to stop the staring and half because he hadn’t gotten to do that in a few hours.

When he pulled away, he pressed their foreheads together. “We’re gonna be fine,” he repeated.

Daichi looked a little like he wanted to repeat himself too— _do you honestly believe that, Koushi?—_ but after a moment, he let out a quiet breath. He nodded. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“Everyone’s gonna be fine.”

He said, “Everyone’s gonna be fine.”

Koushi smiled and pulled back. “Good. Now, it’s bedtime.”

But even tucked chest-to-back with Daichi, he still had trouble sleeping that night.

The next day brought even more panic, the anxiety thick between him and Daichi, keeping such a big secret from the rest of their family. That’s what they were, after all—family, and while Koushi had issues against lying to them, he and Daichi agreed that that was the best way to keep anything worse from happening. Jumping to conclusions was a bad habit that they needed to break. They weren’t going to let what _might_ be mess up what already _was_.

This was all good and well, except that it returned back to this:

Koushi was not having the best day.

Maybe that was part of why he decided now was the time to speak with Hinata; he needed a break. Focusing on other people was always an odd sort of release. Right now, he needed to be too busy thinking about others to think about himself.

The ghost business would be over soon. His next challenge was helping Hinata.

 

\--

 

Sugawara-san had called Shouyou in to speak with him about, as it turned out, shapeshifting.

This was already a touchy subject, if not coincidental. Shouyou didn’t like being reminded about it—he didn’t have issues with being a shapeshifter so much as he had issues with being a _defective_ shapeshifter. What was he good for if he couldn’t even control it? He could make it go back, sure, but how could he help if he couldn’t shapeshift for _real_? He wanted to help them, he really did, but his episodes never came when he wanted them to.

It was frustrating, if he were to put it lightly. He felt like a liar, telling them he was a shapeshifter only to be unable to prove it, and Kageyama hadn’t been much help either, with how suspicious he was of Shouyou. Even if he believed Shouyou now, his initial doubt was still in the back of Shouyou’s mind, making him wonder if he really was lying to them. Working with the animals wasn’t helping. Trying wasn’t helping. Doing nothing wasn’t helping.

“You can’t force it, Shouyou,” Kenma had told him when he’d gotten particularly frustrated, but it sounded like something said more out of pity than real belief, and it only frustrated him further.

“I’m sorry to bring this up,” Suga said when Shouyou finally got down to the heart of why he wanted to see him. They were walking around the fairground, the gymnasium behind them. After the run in with Kageyama, Shouyou had found Sugawara on the farmhouse porch, waiting for him, and they’d decided to take a walk. “I know this is probably…touchy for you. But I had some ideas to help speed up your learning curve.”

Shouyou perked up immediately. “Really? You do? That’s great!”

Suga grinned faintly at his excitement. He pushed a branch politely out of Shouyou’s way; Shouyou knew it was probably just him, but he couldn’t help but notice that the trees seemed more…ominous lately. Winding further, curling around until they were almost pushed against the walls of the gym. He could’ve sworn they hadn’t been that long when he’d first gotten there.

“It isn’t all going to be fun,” Suga continued, “but Yachi and Yamaguchi both said they’d be willing to help you.”

“What? How’re they gonna help? I mean,” he glanced at one of the trees, “not to be rude or anything, but aren’t they both witches?”

“They are,” the vampire agreed, “but they know a lot more than you think. Witches can’t transform themselves the way you can, not completely anyway. But there’ve been strides lately to make transformation magic more common. It’s not exactly the same as shapeshifting, but they’re related ideas. Yamaguchi’s been studying it for a while, so I think he could teach you some things to help get you started. The hard parts would be up to you, obviously, but it might help kick start your ability a little bit. At the very least, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

Shouyou thought about it. He couldn’t see what good it would do, but nothing else had been working so far. “I guess so.”

“So you’re okay with the idea?”

He smiled. “Sure!”

“That’s good news.” Suga smiled back. “Yamaguchi isn’t busy today, if you want to go ahead and start with him. Yachi is working with the animals right now, but you probably already knew that.”

They started back towards the farmhouse with the intention of making it in time for dinner. When they got there, people were beginning to come down from their tasks and getting settled at the tables. Shouyou pointedly avoided eye contact with Kageyama and took a seat between Nishinoya and Yamaguchi, a plate already set out for him.

“I went ahead and got you some,” Noya explained, looking proud of himself.

Shouyou thanked him; near the entrance to the dining room, he could see Kenma watching everyone get settled. There weren’t any free seats at the tables for him, and although he could pass through a person without any issues, he often said he didn’t like to (“It feels…weird,” was what he’d answered with when Shouyou asked), so he stood to the side and observed. Kenma was very good at observing.

“Um…”

Shouyou turned his attention away from his ghost and to the witch next to him. Yamaguchi wasn’t particularly quiet, but he had a way of speaking that always made him seem unsure of himself. “What’s up?”

“Suga-san talked to you already, right? About me and Yachi?”

He nodded. “Yep! You’re gonna help me and stuff.”

“Right.” On Yamaguchi’s other side, Tsukishima—a psychic who had been less than friendly to Shouyou when they first met, and who had already proven to be as just as much of a jerk as Kageyama—shifted where he sat, clearly paying attention to the conversation. “You’re okay with after dinner?”

“The sooner, the better,” Shouyou said. He didn’t want to be defective anymore. He was going to get this shapeshifting thing down if it killed him.

Like promised, they left dinner together, Yamaguchi leading the way to where they were going to be spending their time. Tsukishima pulled the witch back for a moment before they left, and Yamaguchi apologized to Shouyou, saying he’d only be a second. When he came back, Shouyou asked what that had been about.

“Nothing,” he said, but he sounded worried. Despite that, he tried for a smile, and led them upstairs.

The room Yamaguchi had in mind was Karasuno’s attic, complete with a small pullout staircase. The place was surprisingly big, and unexpectedly humid—then again, when Shouyou looked closer, it wasn’t all that odd. It was covered floor to ceiling in plants, the curling kinds that grew around anything and climbed up walls and kept the place looking like an urban jungle. A small, triangular window sat open to the right of the entrance, a cold breeze coming in. Shouyou shivered but didn’t ask for it to be closed; this looked like a sanctuary, not something for an outsider to touch.

“This is so cool,” he said, but had the decency enough to whisper it. This wasn’t a place for yelling. “Do you spend all your time up here?”

“Most of it,” Yamaguchi admitted, looking around the room too. “I usually practice magic up here. I used to do it in my room, but Tsukki doesn’t like it, so…I asked to have this instead.”  

“This is _so cool_ ,” he reiterated. Kenma followed behind them silently, taking in the room on his own. On the sill of the open window sat what seemed to be four vials, three filled with liquids of different color and one empty. Shelves lined the walls with jars of herbs and other miscellaneous things Shouyou didn’t have a name for, some obviously used and some still sealed closed. The floor was hardwood, but in the middle of the room was a rug, dark red and covered in stains. Everything about the place was old and used and beautiful.

Yamaguchi sat them down in the middle of the rug and pulled out two crystals. “Close your eyes and hold out your palms,” he instructed.

Shouyou did so obediently. The crystals were placed in his palms, and he tightened his grip around them gently.

“One’s to calm you down,” Kenma explained from behind him, forever the helpful guide Shouyou needed, “and the other is to increase your flow of energy.”

“Have you ever done this before?” Yamaguchi asked.

Shouyou peeked an eye open to look at him. “Done what?”

“Used crystals for healing. Or, well, magic in general, I guess. I know you grew up with humans, but…”

He shook his head and closed his eyes again. “Nope. Completely new to, like, everything here.”

Yamaguchi snorted in a laugh, but it didn’t sound rude. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Were you like that when you got here?” Shouyou couldn’t help but ask. He still knew so little about the other members of Karasuno; any information, any detail about them was interesting and valued. He wanted to know everything he could.

“Kinda,” he admitted. Shouyou’s eyes were still closed, but he could hear the other get up and begin rustling around drawers in search of something. “I mean, my whole family’s magic, but we grew up in a mostly human area too, and we could usually pretend to be human if we needed to, so…”

It wasn’t uncommon for human-passing monsters to do that, Shouyou knew—hell, he’d technically been doing it until he ran away—but somehow it was still a bit odd to hear. Humans didn’t talk about that bit of monster culture very much, unless they were using it to insult them, biting about how deceitful and amoral monsters were as if humans weren’t the ones forcing them to pretend to be something they weren’t in the first place. The punishment, if a monster were caught impersonating a human, was harsh in most places.

Shouyou couldn’t help but ask, “And you guys never got caught or anything?”

“Once, when I was really little.” The shuffling stopped. When he spoke again, it was quieter. “It was my uncle.”

“Oh.” Shouyou didn’t know how to respond for a beat. “I’m sorry…”

There was the sound again of the witch’s feet against the hardwood, and then his voice was closer. He’d sat down again. “It’s fine. We should—um, stop talking about it, I guess. Anyway, are you ready?”

“Yep!” Shouyou shifted in anticipation where he sat on the rug, feeling the crystals in his hands. “What are we doing today?”

Yamaguchi answered, “Meditating.”

“…Meditating?”

“Meditating.”

“What for?”

“It—well, I don’t know if it’s the same with shapeshifting, but with transformation spells—and most spells, actually—you have to have a clear head. You can’t be thinking about anything but what you’re focused on, so, like, if you’re trying to shapeshift into a specific animal you probably can’t be thinking about anything _but_ that animal. Otherwise, with magic, things get…messy.”

Shouyou thought about it. That made sense, he guessed, that he would need to be focused entirely on his goal, but then… “So, I’m gonna have to meditate every time I wanna shapeshift?” He pouted.

“I don’t think so.” Yamaguchi’s knee brushed his, and he apologized quietly before scooting back and continuing. “I don’t know a lot about shapeshifting, but, um, I think once you get the hang of it you won’t need to do this every time, but for now…it’s probably best.”

“Ughhh,” he groaned. “That’s so much wooork…”

“It’s not that bad,” Yamaguchi assured him. Shouyou peeked an eye open and saw the other sitting across from him, cross-legged and holding two crystals as well. “It’s nice, once you get used to it.”

“I’m not really the ‘sitting still for long periods of time’ type,” he mumbled, but didn’t protest after that.

Yamaguchi walked him through the process, until they were sitting in silence together, the crystals held loosely in both hands. Shouyou wasn’t sure if he was imaging it or not, but he could almost feel the energy from the crystals. It wasn’t unpleasant, just…weird.

When they moved again, it was nearing ten o’clock. There wasn’t technically a curfew at Karasuno, but it was courtesy to be at least inside by around eleven, and to do whatever you were doing as quietly as you could manage. Shouyou stood up, stretching his legs out and looking to where Kenma was watching out the windowsill, looking very interested in the potted cactus that sat facing the moon.

“That was…” Shouyou looked for a word. “Nice?”

Yamaguchi snorted in a laugh, and the freckles on his cheeks moved. Sometimes when he was sitting still it looked like they were stars. “It’s okay if you didn’t enjoy it. Suga doesn’t even really know if it’ll help, we’re just trouble shooting right now.”

“No, it’s okay!” He smiled. “Anything’ll help at this point.”

There was a pause where they were both distracted by the moon outside the attic’s window. It was full, hanging high in the sky, bright white and shining. Shouyou was reminded of Kageyama’s scars.

On a whim, he asked, “Hey, Yamaguchi?”

“Hm?” The witch was still facing the window, but he glanced at Shouyou.

“Where’d Kageyama get his scars from?”

For a moment, Yamaguchi didn’t say anything. Then he turned his back from the window to face the room, looked down at his feet, and frowned. “I’m not sure.” His voice was quiet. It sounded like the ocean, in the same way Kenma’s sounded like the wind.

Shouyou tried not to look disappointed. “Oh, right. Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Yamaguchi looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, and they held contact for a moment. “I wonder about it, but I haven’t asked.”

“You think he’d tell me if I asked?”

Yamaguchi shook his head.

Shouyou sighed. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”

Kenma made his way to stand next to Shouyou, still entranced by the cactus. His hand flitted right through its thorns as he listened to their conversation, staying quiet for Shouyou’s sake, but Shouyou knew he’d bring the topic up again once they were alone in their room.

Just as Shouyou was about to push away from the window and head to his room for the night, Yamaguchi asked, “Is there a reason you two don’t get along?”

“I’m not the one who doesn’t get along with him,” he said. “He accused me of lying about being a monster when we first met and just…was a total ass for absolutely no reason!”

“Kageyama does that,” Yamaguchi mumbled. Louder, he said, “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

Silence.

“So, then…” Shouyou shoved his hands in his pocket and leaned against the sill. “What about you?”

Yamaguchi blinked. “What _about_ me?”

“You know,” he gestured around them, “you and Tsukishima? Why’d you always hang out with him if he’s such a jerk?”

“Tsukki isn’t…” The witch bit his lip, looking away. “He’s not a jerk. I mean—okay, he is,” he amended at the face Shouyou made, “but he’s not _really_ a jerk? He’s…we’ve been best friends for forever. We joined Karasuno together and…”

“And?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not a big deal. He really isn’t that bad, I promise, and—and neither is Kageyama, I think. Kageyama just…doesn’t deal with people well.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Yamaguchi cracked a small grin. He pushed away from the window and started towards the attic’s exit. “We should both get to bed. Do you want to meet again tomorrow? If Yachi’s not busy, I can ask her to join us.”

Shouyou started down the ladder after him, Kenma reluctantly pulling himself away from the plants and following. “That sounds great! After dinner again?”

“Works for me.”

They parted at the bottom of the ladder, saying goodnights and Shouyou thanking him once again for trying to help. Yamaguchi didn’t seem to like that much attention on himself, but he smiled back and said it wasn’t a big deal.

Shouyou crawled into bed ten minutes later, flicking his light off and waiting for the cold presence of his ghost to curl up beside him. When he didn’t feel it, he sat up and looked around the room. He whispered, “Kenma?”

His ghost was a fading light, sitting on the floor facing the window. He flickered, nodded to let Shouyou know he was listening, and flickered again. The moonlight shone through him; any corporal form would’ve been given a halo, but instead, he only appeared darker.

Shouyou began to ask _aren’t you coming to bed?_ But he thought against it. Ghosts didn’t need sleep. Kenma’s “sleeping” was more to comfort Shouyou than it ever was to comfort himself, so Shouyou laid his head down reluctantly and didn’t comment on it.

The shapeshifter fell asleep with a fading light at the end of his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw background tsukkiyama [eyeball emoji] (lmao we shld probably put that as a ship tag b ut)
> 
> tell us what u think!!


	7. time is slowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouyou tried to think of something so horrible that he could never forgive someone for doing it. Hurting Kenma was on that list. If he’d been killed, certainly that. Shouyou thought about Sugawara and Hitoka and all the people at Karasuno—kind and open and supportive and willing to deal with him, even if he was defective—and tried to imagine them doing something like that. Hurting Kenma. Killing Kenma. The image wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ produce itself.
> 
> He watched his ghost from his seat on the bed, Kenma’s form solid. _What am I thinking?_ Shouyou shook his head at himself. _They could never do that._
> 
> \--
> 
> hina learns more, kageyama is gay, and kuroo's a shivering chihuahua

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> multiple things
> 
> **1.** this is the longest chapter to date with 10k words!!! the original plan was for each chap to be about 5k but that....clearly didnt keep lol
> 
> **2.** some fun facts in case anyone was wondering: the reason this fic's tag on our blogs in "mv au" is b/c mv = monsterverse, which is what gray has deemed his original story that this is based off, hence monsterverse au. also, bc the abbrev for circus of crows is coc which is....yep (altho to be fair we call it "cock" when we talk abt it . so. uh. yeah) ((the document for this fic is referred to as the cock dock))
> 
> **3.** chap 8 might take a little longer to upload than the rest have, b/c rn we're both on spring break, and once we get back to school, grays gonna b super busy with a research paper thats like half his english grade lmao, so sorry in advance if the wait is long :0
> 
> as always, thank u so much for the support we've gotten so far! enjoy the chap!

“So,” Koutarou reached across the table for another chip, “what’s the plan?”

He and Akaashi had been staying with Kuroo at his apartment for the past week and a half, the longest they’d visited consecutively in quite a while. They’d made themselves more than comfortable in the time of their stay (or, at least, Koutarou did), and now, they sat together around Kuroo’s makeshift breakfast table, which was really nothing more than the coffee table shoved a little further away from the couch. His apartment wasn’t big by any means, but it worked.

From next to Koutarou, Akaashi threw him a look, but he said nothing. He leaned back against the side of the couch, arms crossed. It was clear that he didn’t particularly want to be here, but he’d gone along with it well enough. He was always getting Koutarou and Kuroo out of trouble. He probably figured if he wasn’t there, they’d do something _really_ stupid and end up dead.

That, Koutarou mused, was probably true.

Instead of answering the question, Kuroo stood up and made his way across the room to his kitchenette. He shuffled around, looking for something, before coming back to the table. A newspaper plopped in front of Akaashi and Koutarou.

Neither of them had to read it to know what it was. They’d looked through that—along with multiple websites and different stolen posters they’d gotten from around town—more times than either cared to count in the past week. Koutarou knew if he looked, the front page would read in big, sleek letters, _The circus is coming to town_ with a million other headlines surrounding the article. In the middle of the page was a shot of what looked like the inside of a circus tent, with a figure caught mid-motion on a trapeze swing.

“January first,” he said, and gestured to the newspaper.

Koutarou and Akaashi shared a look. “That’s the plan?”

“That’s the plan.”

The demon sighed in the same way a tired parent would. “Do you _have_ a plan?”

“Besides storm the place?”

Akaashi nodded.

“…No.”

“Oh my god.”

Kuroo put his hands on his hips. “In my defense, what else is there _to_ do? We’ve done this before. We know how it works.”

“Not with a place this big,” Akaashi said, “and not this public. Are you _trying_ to end up on the news? And with the HPD after you?”

“Actually…” They both looked at Koutarou. “That might work. I mean…what happens if we don’t actually get what we came for? If they end up with the police at their door hounding them, maybe they’d just…give us what we want. You know, to get it to all be over.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Kuroo snapped. “We’re not leaving without him.”

“We don’t even know that he’s there,” Akaashi tried. “They might be as lost about it as we are.”

All three of them paused while Kuroo thought the information over. He’d had a light in his eyes recently that both scared and thrilled Koutarou; some of the old Kuroo was coming back, but…angrier. He seemed pissed off all the time, unreasonably so. A few days after they’d gotten here, Akaashi had voiced to Koutarou that Kuroo’s anger would eat him whole. _If he isn’t careful with it_ , he’d said, _it’s going to do more harm than good_.

There’d been an unspoken rule around the three friends that the change was not to be pointed out. They all knew why he was like this. It wasn’t like the wounds had ever really closed, but there was no point scratching at them either.

Finally, Kuroo nodded, and sat back down on the floor. “You’re right. But we know that there’s no way they’re staying here after this show, they never stay in one place for too long…If they don’t know anything, we still need to keep track of them. The issue is how we’re going to do that…”

“I can do it.”

The two men looked at Koutarou. Kuroo frowned. “Bo, you don’t need to—“

“It’s not a big deal,” he reassured. “This is Akaashi’s and I’s first job in, like, a long time, I don’t mind doin’ a little extra work. And besides, what other option would we have?” He grinned. “You totally owe me though.”

Kuroo’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He cracked a smile. “Hell yeah I do.”

Much like the rule that no one spoke about Kuroo’s shift, there was a rule that they saved outright affection for very specific situations. Because this was not one of them, Kuroo let the full force of his gratitude go unspoken, but Koutarou could still feel it. They clasped hands and grinned at each other. Here was the thrilling part: the boyish, excited look Kuroo always got from planning or thinking about a job. Even for this, he couldn’t help the excitement from bleeding through.

Koutarou chased the expression; he kept an image of it locked tight in his memory. Any grin could be the last for Kuroo right now, but even if that part of Kuroo died—with time or with grief or with life—Koutarou was determined to remember it.

That night, Akaashi made his way into the living room, looking oddly awake for someone who was up at three in the morning. It was Koutarou’s turn to sleep on the couch, and from his palette, he whispered, “Keiji?”

The demon put a finger to his lips, signaling he needed to be quieter in his whisper, but he glided towards Koutarou. Akaashi had an ethereal quality to him that made everything he did seem so much _more_ —he didn’t walk, he glided; he didn’t speak, he sung. It was clear to everyone that he was beautiful, but it was less known that everything he _did_ was beautiful.

Now, he kneeled at the side of the couch. Koutarou sat up to make room for the other on the cushion, but Akaashi stayed where he was. He closed his eyes and laid his head on Koutarou’s thigh, careful of his horns; however small they were, Koutarou knew they would still hurt. “We’re in trouble,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Koutarou brought a hand up to run through the demon’s hair. It always surprised him how soft it was.

“Kuroo’s going to get himself killed.”

“We’re here with him.” Outside, the moon shone. They could hear someone howling. “He’ll be fine, he always is.”

Akaashi’s lashes fluttered against his cheekbones. He looked up and held contact with Koutarou. His eyes, dark and glowing, were just like the rest of him: breathtaking. “I have a bad feeling about this time.”

“You always have a bad feeling.”

He pinched Koutarou’s thigh between the blankets.

“Ow!” The older man pouted.

“Don’t be a baby.”

“I was just jokin’.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. He did that a lot, but it seemed fond this time. “I’m being serious. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What, the raid?”

He looked away, a small frown on his lips. Koutarou was still playing with his hair, and he subtly leaned into the contact. “Yeah.”

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, thinking it over and enjoying the other’s company. With so many things happening lately, they hadn’t had time to just _exist_ in the same area. Even now, they weren’t really just _existing_ —they were worrying about their matchstick of a friend, talking about when he was going to light. Koutarou didn’t like to think of Kuroo as a lost cause—because he _wasn’t_ , they were going to get him back—but he was definitely changed. It had been over a decade, but Kuroo hadn’t healed, and he wasn’t forgetting. He’d never been a particularly stubborn person, but now, he was doing everything in his will to fulfill the promises he’d made so many years prior.

_“I’m going to save you_.”

_“I’m not letting you go.”_

Akaashi sighed and started to stand up, but Koutarou grabbed his hand before he could leave. At the look he received, he said, “Stay here.”

“I need to get to bed, Kou.”

“Then go to bed with me.” He grinned and scooted over on the couch, patting the miniscule space next to him.

The demon seemed to debate with himself for a long moment, before he sighed for the second time, a clear sign he had given in, and crawled under the blankets. “I better not wake up on the floor,” he warned.

Koutarou smiled and wrapped the comforter around them, cocooning the two in its warmth. Kuroo’s apartment was always cold. “You won’t. Promise.”

Akaashi relaxed under the weight of the blankets, curling into the other man until they were tucked as closely as they could get. His tail wrapped around Koutarou’s leg, the way he seemed to do when he was feeling safe.

As they were falling asleep, Koutarou tightened his arms around the other and said, “He’ll be fine.”

 

\--

 

“It’s _snowing!_ ”

Shouyou leaped up from the table before he could think otherwise, pressing his nose against the dining room’s window to see further outside. He hadn’t been wrong; it was snowing, and it was beautiful. He smiled widely and glanced at Kenma, who took in the scene from a few feet back. Nishinoya and a few others had gotten up when he’d gasped, just noticing the change in weather as well. Now, they crowded around the window too.

“They act like they’ve never seen snow before,” he heard Yamaguchi mumble to Tsukishima, but Shouyou didn’t think about it. He _had_ seen snow before, but it was rare, and therefore _exciting_ every time the temperature dropped. He wondered briefly how the animals were doing, if they’d need to be brought inside during the cold or if they were made to handle it. He vowed to remember to ask Hitoka about it later.

After he’d gotten his fill of marveling at the weather, he returned to his seat at the table to finish his breakfast. Kageyama stiffened when Shouyou sat down, looking annoyed that he’d thought to come back, but he pointedly didn’t say anything. For whatever reason, Kageyama had been coming down to meals later than everyone else the past couple of days, and he’d been forced very unwillingly to sit next to Shouyou for lack of any other seats. As the week went on, he seemed to get more and more irritated with the arrangement, until it left them on today, Thursday, where he was actively avoiding Shouyou.

Kageyama was frustrating as he was, but this was even more so. Shouyou had thought that after he’d proven himself, Kageyama would have started acting at least a _little_ nicer to him, if only forced out of politeness. He didn’t have a reason to hate Shouyou anymore, but his attitude towards the redhead had stubbornly refused to change. Shouyou caught him glaring just as often as before, and even though Shouyou made a conscious effort to see him around during the day, Kageyama was just as suspicious and unfriendly as ever.

Now, Shouyou crossed his legs on his chair and nudged the vampire’s elbow with his own. When it didn’t earn him anything but an apprehensive side-ways glance, he finished chewing and said, “Aren’t you excited about the snow?”

Kageyama looked at him weirdly. “Why would I be?”

“’Cause it’s super exciting?” Shouyou restrained from rolling his eyes. “What, don’t you like the cold, Kageyama?”

He looked uncomfortable with the topic. He gave a stunted shrug, clearly trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible. “I guess.”

“I only like the cold when it’s snowing,” Shouyou continued. He was determined to keep some semblance of conversation going, even if he had to pull all the weight himself. He _refused_ to sit here in uncomfortable silence for the rest of breakfast. “Though, even when it snows, I like spring and summer the most—but I’m probably biased, ‘cause my birthday’s in summer, so of course I’d like summer most.”

There was an uncomfortably long pause, filled with the chatter of Karasuno around them. Just as Shouyou was about to reach for something else to say, Kageyama frowned at him. “Why are you talking to me?”

Shouyou blinked. Whatever it was he’d thought Kageyama was going to say, it wasn’t that. “Because…I mean, why wouldn’t I? We see each other all the time anyway, we might as well.”

Kenma seemed interested to see the direction this was taking. Over Kageyama’s shoulder, Shouyou saw his ghost studying them with those golden eyes of his. Kenma was a washed out thing, but if there was one part of him that kept its vibrancy even in death, it was his eyes.

Kageyama’s frown only deepened, but instead of responding to Shouyou’s answer, he glanced over his shoulder. When he could find nothing, he turned back to the shapeshifter, skepticism in place once again. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Shouyou said. “Something…um, on your shirt.”

It wasn’t true, but it got the other to look down and forget what he’d asked about for a moment. Shouyou saw Kenma press his lips together to suppress a smile.

“You’re doing it again.”

_Dammit_. “Doing what?”

“Looking at something.”

Shouyou took a sip of his drink for a moment, pretending to think it over. When he’d set his glass back down, he smiled and said, “It’s weird to look at things?”

Kageyama scowled. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Then what am I looking at?”

“You tell me!”

Kenma pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh. During daily relations of Shouyou’s day, Kenma had said not in so many words that Kageyama, while not his favorite person, was interesting to observe.

At the vampire’s outburst, a few people had looked at them to see what was up. From the other table, Suga shot Kageyama a look. Shouyou didn’t know what it meant, but the two seemed to have a silent conversation across the room, until Kageyama eventually gave in and dropped the topic. Shouyou thought about asking what that was about, but chose against it.

They went back to ignoring each other the rest of the meal.

 

\--

 

The first time Shouyou officially managed to shapeshift on purpose, he was brushing Orthrus, thinking about how sharp her claws were. Hitoka had showed him how to clip them the other day, first demonstrating it, and then letting him try. Now, her claws were sharp enough to hurt but not enough to kill. He thought about what they’d looked like before they’d been cut, jutting out of her black paws in a way that would have been menacing if it were on any other creature, and thought about what it’d be like to have them, and kept thinking about it, until he heard the scratch against the brush he’d been holding. When he looked down, Orthrus’s claws—now his—were dug into the handle.

He didn’t even think about getting it unstuck from his hand, too excited by the development, so Hitoka found him like that, waving the brush around and speaking a mile a minute.

She blinked at him, looking confused, until her eyes fell on his hands. She must have recognized them too. “Y-you did that?!”

Grinning, he nodded, hastily plucking the brush from his nails. He stopped waving his arms around long enough to thrust his hands towards her so she could see his newly made claws better. “Look!”

Hitoka did, and once she got over her shock, she all but dropped the bucket of soap she’d just been holding and threw her arms around him in a hug. “Shouyou, this is amazing!”

He hugged her back, careful of his nails. He was still grinning when they pulled away, and she laughed, a little disbelievingly. “You—you did it! You shapeshifted on your own!”

The next person they showed was Yamaguchi. Shouyou didn’t shift his hand back—a part of him feared that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to shift another time, and then he’d have nothing to prove that he’d _done it_ —even as they ran around the fairgrounds, looking for the witch. He was just coming out of Daichi’s office, Tsukishima a few steps behind him, when Shouyou and Hitoka found him. They explained what happened a second time, and Yamaguchi, while less excited than the two had been, still split into a large smile and congratulated Shouyou. Shouyou smiled back and thanked him.

Tsukishima didn’t say anything, but he shoved his hands in his pockets and brushed past them, apparently not waiting for his friend to finish his conversation. Yamaguchi let him go, offering an, “I’ll catch up in a moment, Tsukki,” before the psychic turned the corner, out of sight.

“Have you been able to do anything else?” the witch asked, once the conversation was back on Shouyou. “Like, full-body shifts or anything, or is just—um, the hand…?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. “But—that’s the next step! I’ll get it down soon for sure, just you watch!”

They didn’t bother telling anyone else right away, mostly because Sugawara and Daichi were having yet another private conversation—something they seemed to be having a lot of these days—and Shouyou didn’t want to interrupt them.

“You’re sure you don’t want to tell them?” Hitoka asked, once they’d parted ways with Yamaguchi and were heading back to the animal tents. “Suga would be really excited to know that you’ve started making progress.”

“It’s fine,” he assured. “I can tell him at dinner.”

Dinner, however, was uncharacteristically tense. For a reason Shouyou wasn’t aware of, everyone was quieter than usual, only a few people bothering with soft conversation. It felt like they were collectively holding their breath—although for what, Shouyou didn’t know.

What he did know was that it had something to do with the leaders of the group. Daichi, Sugawara, and Asahi were stiff, still speaking to each other, but it felt stunted, like the words they chose weren’t the ones they wanted. Asahi wasn’t sitting with Nishinoya today. Daichi sat at the end of the table, and even from the other side of the room, Shouyou could see his shoulders tensing.

Kenma watched. “There’s something wrong.”

Shouyou wanted to say _What do you think it is?_ or maybe _Please talk to me, I can’t stand this_. But they were surrounded by the rest of Karasuno, too quiet for Shouyou’s voice to go unnoticed, so he kept his mouth shut and ignored the way Kageyama’s elbow tapped his more than once.

They finished eating. Shouyou helped do the dishes, and the atmosphere lightened a little with Ennoshita’s jokes as they washed everyone’s plates. When he was sure no one was there to eavesdrop on their conversation, Shouyou couldn’t help but ask, “What was that about at dinner?”

Ennoshita regarded him for a moment, handing a glass to the other. Shouyou dried it with a towel while Ennoshita sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes…things like that happen around here. If Suga, Daichi, and Asahi are upset about something, everyone else feels it. They try not to tell us when something is worrying them, but we can tell most of the time anyway.”

Shouyou frowned. “So…then, there’s something they’re upset about? Like what?”

“That one,” he said, “I don’t know.”

They didn’t speak about it after that.

Kenma climbed the stairs with him back to his bedroom, and once they were behind the safety of closed doors, Shouyou asked, “Why do you think they’re worried?”

From the floor in front of the bed, Kenma shook his head. He’d taken a liking to that spot; from where he sat, he always had a clear view out the window. “I’m not sure, Shouyou.” He sounded apprehensive.

“You still don’t trust them?”

“They haven’t given me a reason to.”

“They gave us a place to stay.”

“That isn’t always a good thing, Shouyou.”

He started to reply, but something about the way Kenma said that made him stop. He sounded like he knew from experience; _being given a place to stay isn’t always good._ Shouyou wondered what had happened for him to believe that so wholeheartedly, to be suspicious of people that were providing them with a home.

“You’re right,” he responded instead, lying on his back on the bed. There was a water stain on the ceiling that looked like a bird. “Guess that means we still don’t know if we’re staying for real, huh?”

Kenma didn’t say anything. That meant yes.

It was week three of their stay at Karasuno, and Kenma still hadn’t been convinced they were good people. Shouyou started thinking he never would be; maybe they really _had_ done something horrible in Kenma’s life, and even if they never found out what happened, Kenma could never forgive them.

Shouyou tried to think of something so horrible that he could never forgive someone for doing it. Hurting Kenma was on that list. If he’d been killed, certainly that. Shouyou thought about Sugawara and Hitoka and all the people at Karasuno—kind and open and supportive and willing to deal with him, even if he _was_ defective—and tried to imagine them doing something like that. Hurting Kenma. Killing Kenma. The image wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ produce itself.

He watched his ghost from his seat on the bed, Kenma’s form solid. _What am I thinking?_ Shouyou shook his head at himself. _They could never do that_.

 

\--

 

“Shouyou!” Nishinoya grinned widely, waving an arm in the air. In his other hand, he held what looked like a roll of tape. “Come help us!”

Curious, Shouyou trotted over to them. He was lugging around a large bag of dog food per Hitoka’s request, but figured he could pause on his errand to see what Nishinoya and Ennoshita were up to.

“What’re you doing?” He asked, shifting the bag in his arms so he wouldn’t drop it, but his eyes widened excitedly when he saw what they were holding. “Are those—streamers?!”

Noya wobbled precariously on a large stepladder, but didn’t seem bothered by it in the least. Ennoshita handed him one end of the streamer roll, and even with the ladder, he still had to get on his tiptoes to reach the top of the farmhouse’s doorframe. The windows out front were already covered in gold. “Yeah! We’re decorating!”

“Decorating for what?”

That earned him a confused look. “Christmas?”

“Oh.” He blinked. “ _Oh!_ ”

In all the commotion that had been his life recently, he had completely forgotten it was more than halfway through December. He’d never been religious, but he’d celebrated it anyway at the orphanage, just because it was fun. He had good memories associated with the holiday.

“Do you guys, like—are you going to throw a party?” He nearly dropped the bag of dog food in his excitement. “Is that why you’re decorating?”

“More or less,” Ennoshita answered. “Mostly it’s just…to get in the spirit.”

“Daichi likes it,” Noya added. “He says it ‘brings us together.’”

Shouyou could see that. People always talked about how holidays were to bring families closer together and stuff, so he didn’t know why this family would be any different. “That’s so cool!”

“Right?!” The werewolf finished taping the gold streamer across the door’s frame and hopped down from the ladder in one movement. Shouyou studied the decoration for a moment.

“What’s it gold for?”

“Style,” Noya said plainly, and then grinned. “Wanna help us do the inside too?”

Shouyou brightened, and then remembered the bag he was still holding. “Ah, sorry,” he apologized, “I think Hitoka needs me right now…Afterwards, maybe?”

Ennoshita nodded, and started leading the way inside. “See you in a bit, Hinata-kun.”

“Thanks!”

The walk from the house to the animal tents was not a particularly long one, so Shouyou only had a few minutes to babble to Kenma about how excited he was for Christmas. It wasn’t until they were almost to Hitoka when he realized Kenma wasn’t responding. “Kenma? What’s wrong?”

The ghost shook his head. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “It’s just…my head hurts.”

“Your head hurts?” Shouyou frowned. “I didn’t know you could get headaches.”

“I…” He frowned. “I didn’t either.”

When it was clear that Kenma wasn’t going to continue talking about it, Shouyou left it at that for the time being, another mystery on their already extensive To Be Dealt With Later list. More and more things with Kenma had been popping up lately—a sudden fascination with the moon; an increase in flickering; weird reactions to unconnected things (dates, for example, like twenty years ago); and now, headaches when they’d previously believed that, as a ghost, he couldn’t even _feel_ pain. On top of that, he’d started talking less. Kenma had always been a quiet thing, but now it was like he was afraid to speak.

Shouyou kind of missed him.

The past week had been rough.

Instead of bringing it up, Shouyou didn’t push conversation, and once they got inside to where Hitoka was waiting for him, they couldn’t speak even if Kenma wanted to.

She beamed when he walked in. “Oh, Shouyou, you’re back!” Not even a moment later, her smile seemed to fall. “What’s wrong?”

He dropped the bag in front of Orthrus’s feet. The beast crouched down to sniff at it excitedly, nudging it with her nose. “Ah, nothing!”

Hitoka’s expression softened. “You’re not a very good liar, Shou.”

“H-hey!”

She laughed, but he didn’t take offence. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. And…you look upset. What’s up?”

The shapeshifter had a moment where he debated telling Hitoka about Kenma, but, then…

“Really, it’s not a big deal. I’m okay.” He smiled to prove his point.

Kenma was private. Not to mention, until they figured out what happened, Kenma was _scared_ of the people at Karasuno; he didn’t want to admit it, but Shouyou knew him too well for it to stay hidden long. On top of not trusting them, he was afraid of what they could do—or, more accurately, what they could have done. With so little information, there was no way Kenma would be okay with Shouyou telling them about him, even if it _was_ just Hitoka.

Hitoka gave him a long look, deciding whether or not to believe his lie. He offered her another bright, characteristic grin as a last ditch effort. Finally, she nodded, and started working to open Orthrus’s bag. “Okay,” she said, “but if you ever need to talk, Shou…”

“I know.” He nodded. “I’ll come to you.”

“Promise?”

If she noticed the way he paused, she didn’t say anything about it. “Yeah, promise.”

“Good.” Satisfied with his answer, she smiled, and gestured towards the dog food. “Help me open this?”

 

\--

 

Yamaguchi was, as it turned out, a good source of information.

Even though he’d not known very much about monsters when he’d first joined Karasuno, having grown up in a mostly human area the way Shouyou had, he’d made a conscious effort to learn as much as he could, not only about witches, but any monster type he could find a book on.

This turned out to be very helpful to Shouyou, as he knew exactly jack shit about…most things.

“So, wait.” Shouyou paused behind Yamaguchi where they were climbing up the attic ladder that evening. “I don’t get it. What’s the difference between a witch and a seer, then? And—then, what about psychics? Aren’t they all, like, the same thing basically?”

“Not really…I mean,” he held out a hand to pull Shouyou up through the entrance, “they’re related things, I guess? But they aren’t the same.”

Shouyou took it. “Then how’re they different?”

“Witches are, well…Okay, so, think of them in terms of magic-based and divination-based. Witches only work in magic, but we take stuff from divination to make it work…I don’t know, differently?”

“You lost me.”

Yamaguchi ran a hand through his hair, the other coming up to play with the crystal around his neck. He and Hitoka both had a habit of doing that. “Okay, so, scrying is something that psychics do as a way to see the future, right?”

Shouyou nodded. “Right.”

“But witches can scry too, and use it to…transport, I guess? It can be used to move from place to place. That’s how Karasuno gets around, for the most part, which is why we need so many witches. Does that part make sense?”

“…Yes?”

He frowned. “That sounded like a question.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m following! Keep going! So, divination?”

“Right, so, witches can use scrying with magic to move places. But psychics can only use it to see the future. And—“ He glanced at the crystal. “Well, you’d have to ask Tsukki more about it, but usually psychics have dreams and things like that as…omens, I guess? They aren’t clear most of the time, so you have to be really careful when you interpret them.”

Shouyou agreed, but he had no intention of going to Tsukishima for something like this. He was fine with Yamaguchi, who _wasn’t_ super scary and mean, thank you. “And seers?”

“Seers are…” The witch paused. “Well. Um, in terms of divination-based and magic-based, seers are more…in-between? They’re really rare, so there’s not much known about them really, but they can tell the future like psychics and usually have, to some extent, magic. Not, like, spells and potion magic like witches, but…more, um, energy?”

“…You lost me again.”

Yamaguchi laughed a little. “It’s okay, let’s just start meditating.”

“Aww, but I want to know more!” Shouyou whined, but he was already sitting down on the rug. “I never got to learn this kind of stuff in school.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Yamaguchi sat down across from him, but didn’t move to get the crystals. “Sorry, I’m not very good at explaining things.”

“No, don’t apologize!” Shouyou crossed his legs. “You’re way better at it than I would be. But—anyway, what about ages?”

Yamaguchi blinked. “Ages?”

“Yeah, you know, like…Suga-san told me when we met that he’s, like, eighty years old, so how does that work?”

“Suga-san’s a vampire,” he explained, “so, they, um…they still grow, but a lot slower than humans. So, even though he’s been alive for eighty-eight years, he’s not really any older than eighteen.”

“That…” Shouyou frowned. “Sounds complicated.”

“It is, especially during in-between years.” Before he could ask, Yamaguchi continued, “An in-between year is, like…so, Suga’s eighty-eight, which is exactly eighteen in vampire years, but when he turns eighty-nine he’ll still be eighteen vampire years, he’ll just be eighty-nine chrono years. And, like, Kageyama is technically fifteen vampire years, even though he’s turning seventy-two this month—“

“This month?”

Yamaguchi paused. “Um…yes? His birthday’s the twenty-second, so…”

That shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to Shouyou, but it was nearly the twentieth and _no_ one had mentioned that there was a birthday coming up soon, let alone Kageyama’s; plus, it was sort of weird to imagine Kageyama celebrating something like a birthday. He’d half-thought Kageyama had been born the way he was now, perpetually frowning. He managed to think about a child Kageyama for approximately two seconds before it seemed too unrealistic.

Shouyou didn’t ask about it after that, but stored the information away for later. During training with Yamaguchi that night, he changed the skin on his palms to scales.

 

\--

 

Two days later found Shouyou with multiple new stories to tell Kenma.

One was that he’d managed to control his shifting enough to change his full arm. The experience had been…more than creepy, with one arm a snake’s trunk and the rest of his body normal, like something out of a badly animated horror film. But Hitoka was excited by his progress, and her excitement had proven to be contagious.

The other was from that morning.

Shouyou had had that conversation with Yamaguchi stuck in the back of his mind for the past forty-eight hours and counting, and he still couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not just because of the new information about magic and divination—although that was still very cool, and very helpful—but also because of Kageyama.

Birthdays hadn’t been a super big thing at the orphanage, but Shouyou had always had an interest in them. They were a big deal for him, even if he hadn’t had friends who shared that opinion. Birthdays meant you had survived another year; they were _always_ to be celebrated. Kenma couldn’t remember his birthday, which was something Shouyou had always been upset about. Even though it didn’t really matter—after all, Kenma, for all intents and purposes, was going to be eighteen forever—Shouyou still chose to celebrate both their birthdays on his. He’d come up with the idea of it when he was eleven, and it’d been a tradition ever since.

That morning, despite it being very keenly the twenty-second, Shouyou didn’t see anyone saying anything about it. No one was acting any differently than normal—the atmosphere from the other night had dropped, if only slightly, and now everyone was talking and laughing amongst themselves, like they had been before—but as far as Shouyou knew, they hadn’t remembered Kageyama’s birthday.

Shouyou may not have gotten along with the guy very much, but having your birthday forgotten about was, as far as he was concerned, one of the worst experiences a person could have. Well, maybe not _the_ worst, but…it was pretty high up there.

He sat down next to Kageyama (very consciously ignoring the fact that there were at least three open seats next to other people), plate in hand, and before he could talk himself out of it, said, “Happy birthday.”

Kageyama didn’t respond at first, apparently too shocked by the development. He didn’t quite gape, but his mouth opened and closed a few times, sharp teeth poking out with the motion. Eventually, he settled on, “ _What_?”

“It’s your birthday, right?” Shouyou said, rather than asked. “Yamaguchi told me it was. I can’t remember how old he said you were turning, though…”

“It—“ Kageyama started, and then stopped himself. He turned away from Shouyou to scowl at the table, swallowing hard. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does!” Shouyou frowned. “It always matters!”

No response.

When it became clear that this was all he was going to get, Shouyou huffed and poked at his food halfheartedly. “Fine, _don’t_ tell me,” he grumbled, oddly bitter; he wasn’t sure why the lack of response bothered him so much, since it wasn’t like they even got along to begin with, but it seemed to sting. “’S not like I care anyway, I just thought—since I hadn’t seen anyone else say it, I should…”

He felt the other’s shoulders tense next to him, and then drop.

“I’m,” Kageyama said, and then faltered, the way he had before. There was a pause before he tried again, “I’m…turning seventy-two.”

The pause this time was on Shouyou’s end. “Oh, now I remember Yamaguchi saying that!”

“…Okay?” Kageyama glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, still frowning, but his expression looked lighter, this frown less angry and more confused. “What were you even talking about me for?”

Shouyou flushed. “No reason!” he stuttered, before he could think to tell the truth. It wasn’t like he and Yamaguchi had been doing anything _wrong_ talking about vampire ages and whatever, but the way Kageyama had said that sounded…accusatory, and now his immediate reaction was to burn with embarrassment.

Kageyama made a noise somewhere between a huff and a growl, like the sound had only halfway been born from the throat. “Whatever.” And for good measure, “…Dumbass.”

“Stop calling me that!” Shouyou glared at the taller, crossing his arms and very pointedly ignoring how much he had to tilt his head up slightly to make eye contact. He still hated the height factor Kageyama had over him. Shouyou wouldn’t ever get over how short he was, honestly. “And we were only talking about you because I wanted to know how ages worked.”

“And you didn’t already know about that?”

The question only made his face burn more. “Of course I didn’t, stupid, I grew up with humans! When would they have taught me that?”

Kageyama blinked, like it was the first time he was taking Shouyou’s upbringing into consideration. “I guess they wouldn’t have,” he mumbled. He sounded angry, but for once, not at Shouyou.

Neither of them said anything for few minutes; Shouyou watched the other out of the corner of his eye. The first few times eating next Kageyama—or any of the vampires, for that matter—had been weird, because Shouyou wasn’t used to the sight of blood so casually. Even though they all still ate the food prepared, he saw Sugawara and Asahi drinking blood along with it, either in vials or bags. That was another thing that Shouyou hadn’t been taught very much about: vampires’ eating habits. He knew they drank blood, obviously, and that, while it used to be the kind of thing that left people dead, they had legal ways of getting nutrients now. But he’d never been taught what those ways were, or how any of it even worked. How could they eat normal food but still need to drink blood? Where did the “legal” blood come from? How much did they even need?

He filed the questions away for later. Shouyou seemed to have a lot of those lately.

Halfway through breakfast, Kageyama shifted, jaw clenching and then unclenching, and Shouyou glanced at him. He thought about Kageyama’s teeth, remembering how they’d looked earlier as they’d poked out between words, and he got the sudden urge to ask what blood tasted like, and if it was good. Did they like drinking it, or did they just need it to live?

Kageyama’s scar twitched with his cheek. Shouyou wondered, if he asked right now, if Kageyama would tell him how he got it.

“Thank you.”

Shouyou blinked himself out of his thoughts. “Huh? What for?”

Kageyama’s face soured in juxtaposition with his words. “For…the birthday thing.”

“Oh.” A beat. “You’re really bad at this.”

“What did you say?!”

Despite being afraid of Kageyama’s anger, Shouyou continued, “You’re supposed to say ‘thank you’ _right after_ the person wishes you happy birthday, not, like, twenty minutes later!”

Kageyama looked like he wanted to argue with that, but couldn’t. He looked away. “…Fine, then, dumbass, start over.”

“Start over?”

“Say it again!” he snapped. Even with the tone, he was blushing. “And—and I’ll get it right this time.”

They looked at each other until Shouyou’s face split into a grin. “Happy birthday, Kageyama,” he repeated. His words sounded softer than he meant them to.

“Thank you,” Kageyama grumbled, but he looked like he was holding back a smile.

 

\--

 

“You seem to be getting along better with him.”

“I guess so. I mean—kind of? He’s still an asshole, but…I don’t know, it’s…kind of bearable. I think. Maybe.”

“Shouyou.”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you’re getting along.”

“…Yeah.”

“…”

“Hey, Ken? Do you know…um, have you decided if they’re okay to trust yet? If you haven’t, that’s—I get it, but I thought maybe you had, because you seem to like Hitoka and them more, and you always talk about liking watching everyone, so…”

“I don’t know, Shouyou. I’m sorry.”

“…Right, yeah, stupid question. I know you don’t like talking about it, so I’ll drop it, but you’ll tell me when you decide, won’t you? Like, right away?”

“Of course I will.”

“Good! Don’t forget then, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Then…‘night, Kenma!”

“Good night, Shouyou.”

 

\--

 

Christmas at Karasuno was hectic.

Not in a bad way. Shouyou had experienced hectic in a bad way on more than one occasion at the orphanage, and this was not it; this was warmth. Chaotic, loud, _busy_ warmth, but warmth. Warmth and home and an odd sense of picket-fence happiness, even in the mess that was Karasuno. They weren’t a conventional family—they weren’t a conventional _anything_ , after all, but they made Shouyou believe in that Hallmark, movie-marketed sense of family that he’d always wanted and never had.

It made him feel like he already had it.

There wasn’t a Christmas tree, although according to Tanaka they’d been asking Daichi if they could get one for about four years now. Instead, everyone gathered in the living room, spread out across chairs and sofas and wherever they could find on the floor. Shouyou sat on the floor in front of the couch, Hitoka next to him and Kiyoko and Ennoshita were on the couch behind them. Nishinoya and Asahi helped pass out presents, and Shouyou watched them pile up next to Hitoka. She seemed to flush every time she got one, like she hadn’t expected anyone to get her anything, and it reminded Shouyou of the guilt he’d been feeling all day for not getting anyone gifts.

It was fair that he hadn’t gotten _every_ one something, being a broke teenager—and also not even technically part of Karasuno yet—but he felt bad for not buying at the very _least_ Hitoka something. She’d been his best friend here, along with Yamaguchi, and yet the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

It took more than three hours for all of the presents to be unwrapped, because they took turns going in a circle, but eventually, they made it. The room filled to the brim in wrapping paper and empty boxes, Daichi shooed everyone off to bed while Sugawara and he cleaned up the trash.

Everyone except Shouyou.

“Can we speak to you for a moment?” he said, and it didn’t sound like a request. Hitoka gave him a curious look, but wished him goodnight and merry Christmas before scampering upstairs to her room. Kenma watched her go, and then gave Shouyou the same curious look. He’d stayed quiet through most of the night, but now, he looked like he wanted to say something.

Once it was just them in the room, Suga tied one of the trash bags he’d been filling and set it aside. “I’ll be right back.” With that, he disappeared down the hallway.

Shouyou fidgeted nervously and turned to Daichi while they waited. “Am I in trouble?”

Daichi laughed; his laugh always had a way of both soothing and unnerving Shouyou. “Of course not. We just have something to give you.”

“Something…?”

Before he could ask any further, Suga reappeared, holding a rectangular box wrapped in the same paper all of the others had been, a neat orange bow tied on top. He held it out to Shouyou, smiling. “Merry Christmas, Hinata-kun.”

A little awestruck, he took it, turning the present over in his hands. “This is for me?”

Daichi nodded. “Open it.”

He did, hesitantly at first and then ripping into the paper like a child would. Under it was a cardboard box, the kind you get at a store to hold clothes. When he finally managed to get through the tape keeping it closed, he felt his face go slack.

The present was a complete outfit: a blue, high-necked sleeveless shirt; a jacket to go over it, looking like a grid; dark green pants, and darkly colored boots that looked more expensive than everything he was currently wearing combined.

He unfolded the shirt and held it up to look at it better. “This is…you got this for me?”

“It’s for you,” Suga confirmed, still smiling. “We make all of our clothes.”

“You _made this?_!”

“We did.”

Shouyou blinked at the outfit. “That’s…I mean, but—why? You didn’t have to get me anything!”

“Of course we did.” Daichi crossed his arms, expression mirroring Suga’s. “Everyone at Karasuno has a uniform, modified to each person. You’re part of us now.”

“I’m…” He ran his hands over the fabric, eyes still wide as he took it all in. The clothes looked professionally made, but when he brushed his fingers on the collar of the shirt, it seemed to shimmer and breathe beneath his fingertips. Like a sleeping animal. “I’m—really part of…of Karasuno?”

“We know you haven’t formally made your decision yet,” Daichi explained, looking a little apologetic, “and we don’t mean to put you on the spot. You still have time to decide. We just figured that since you’ve been here long enough, it might be a nice present.”

“You—you didn’t have to get me—“

“There was no way we were going to let you be the only one without a gift, Hinata-kun.” Suga didn’t even let the sentence finish before he was dispelling it. “Like we said, for as long as you’re here, you’re a part of us.”

“If you want to be, of course,” Daichi added.

He was a part of them. If he wanted to be.

Shouyou didn’t realize how badly he wanted to be.

“H-hinata? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Furiously, he scrubbed at his eyes with the hand that wasn’t clutching the fabric of his new clothes, but he gave up pretty quickly. Once the tears started, they weren’t going to stop. “I’m fine,” he assured, but his voice wavered and cracked and he was still crying. “I’m o-okay.”

Suga put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, and when Shouyou looked up the vampire’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern. “Hinata-kun, are you sure you’re okay? We didn’t mean to upset you, if it’s going to cause anything like this you don’t have to wear them, or even keep them.”

“No!”

The intensity of it surprised all of them. He backtracked.

“I’m—no, no, I want them,” Shouyou said, and his grip on the shirt tightened. He hoped they didn’t notice the way his lip trembled. “I just—I’ve never…”

There were a million things he could’ve said there. _I’ve never had a home. I’ve never had a group of people who cared about me. I’ve never wanted to stay in one place for so long. I’ve never been so confused and conflicted and_ scared _to stay in one place for so long._

He’d never, he’d never, he’d never. Shouyou had about as many “never”s as he did questions.

The two were still looking at him, confused and worried, and that only made him cry more. They worried about him. They wanted him to stay.

_You’re a part of us now_.

“I’ve never been so happy.”

 

\--

 

Tobio didn’t usually wander around much after hours.

This was mostly because there was something unnerving about Karasuno past midnight. The witching hours were not good for the circus, any circuses—but especially not theirs. In the dark with only moonlight to guide anyone, the farmhouse looked menacing, like a giant, or an angry god coming to pass judgment on them. The shutters always looked like teeth to Tobio, and the bright orange of the house, with his vision, looked like fire.

So he tended to avoid leaving his room after the clock ticked past twelve, but lately, he’d been breaking his own self-imposed rule. He’d been restless the past couple of weeks, needing to move even when he was dead tired, never getting enough sleep. He’d always been pretty okay at waking up and going to bed on time—he’d never enjoyed it, but what teenager did?—but now, any time was too early or too late or too _much_. It was like his body didn’t want to wake up at all.

There wasn’t much to preoccupy himself with at one in the morning with everyone asleep. Sitting there staring at the ceiling had proven to be a bad investment of his time. He found that, given the chance, he would start thinking, and thinking, and wouldn’t stop until he was stuck replaying thoughts he didn’t want to replay. The only next logical idea was to get out of bed and find something to do.

The “something to do” had turned out to be walking around the fairgrounds until he was too tired to anymore. Karasuno had only been in this location for a month (give or take), so he wasn’t entirely used to the layout of the area, but no matter where they went, the gym and the farmhouse was the same. Most nights, his feet took him on autopilot around the perimeter of the house, walking laps until the moon lowered and his eyes drooped. It was still a little unpleasant, a little scary—but he’d lived there for almost a decade. Even if he didn’t like it, he could deal with the angry god of a house.

Every night for the past week, he’d taken to getting up, walking laps, and falling into bed when his body would let him. The routine was unsavory, but the only one he could find that worked. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be any different.

But it was still Christmas (technically, for another seven minutes), and he couldn’t stop _thinking_ even after he left his room and started to go for his nightly walk. His mind usually calmed down once he focused his energy on finding his way around the house in the dark—his eyesight was better than a human’s, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still trip and stub his toe on the corner of a table—but it was six minutes until the twenty-sixth and he was still thinking.

Hinata was annoying, and loud, and stubborn, and _completely_ clueless. Tobio was still thinking about why Hinata had wished him a happy birthday, but he couldn’t come up with any answer besides that the boy wanted to. Vampires didn’t usually celebrate in-between years, and Tobio didn’t even really celebrate _full_ years; no one but Hinata had bothered to say anything about it being the twenty-second. That should have annoyed him; Hinata’s ignorance on anything that wasn’t human should’ve annoyed him, the fact that he wished him a happy birthday like they were friends, when they very much weren’t, _should’ve annoyed him_.

Tobio closed the door to his bedroom behind him and came to the realization that it didn’t. None of it did.

“What a pain,” he mumbled to himself, because it was five minutes to tomorrow and no one else was awake. His door clicked as it closed completely, and he took a step towards the stairway, avoiding the creaky floorboards with practiced ease. There were two separate hallways on this floor; he shared this one with Sugawara and Daichi, Yamaguchi and Tadashi, and Kiyoko. He could’ve roomed with Kiyoko if they really needed to, but when room arrangements were just being made, there had been enough room. Now, instead of messing with arrangements and moving everyone around, they’d taken to expanding if need be.

The second hallway—the one were he knew Hinata was rooming by himself, Hitoka close by—wasn’t next to the first. He didn’t _need_ to pass it on his way down the stairs, but he was still thinking about _happy birthday_ and at the party tonight, he hadn’t been able to stop fidgeting. He didn’t like to say that he had been staring at Hinata, because that carried all kinds of connotations that weren’t accurate in the slightest. But he couldn’t deny that he’d been…looking. If Hinata noticed, he didn’t let on.

Tobio barely peaked his head down the hallway just to calm his curiosity and racing thoughts, and he planned on turning right back around and taking his walk the moment he was satisfied.

Something caught his eye.

In front of one of the doors, light caught. This was odd enough as it was, because it was pitch black with no windows in sight, but the light flickered and gleamed and he was reminded of one of Yamaguchi’s crystals. All of the doors were closed. His interest piqued.

Very quietly, he called, “Hello?”

There wasn’t an answer. _Stupid_ , he thought, _of course there isn’t. It’s nothing_. But he kept looking.

Just as he was about to turn around, the object seemed to shift, until the light was growing and the shape solidified, if only slightly. For a very split second, it looked like a person.

Tobio caught golden eyes before he bolted out and back into his room, walk forgotten.

He caught his breath as he pulled himself under the covers, door closed tightly behind him and locked. Tobio felt stupid, getting so freaked out over something that, now that his adrenaline had gone down, had probably just been a trick of the light like he originally thought. He wasn’t stupid enough not to believe in ghosts or spirits, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to believe they’d somehow been caught with one. He’d lived at Karasuno for almost ten years; if they’d had a ghost problem, he would’ve known by now.

Still, that didn’t make going to sleep that night any easier.

 

\--

 

Tadashi had seen Tsukishima in about as many states as one could imagine.

But that was only to be expected. They’d known each other for as long as Tadashi was able to remember, and put in more reckless (dangerous, traumatizing) situations than either of them would’ve liked. Tsukishima hadn’t always been so closed with his emotions.

That being said, Tadashi _hadn’t_ seen him like this.

They were in the audience, front row seats, because despite being members of Karasuno, neither of them was interested in participating in the actual show part of it. Daichi always made sure they were there to watch the performances—something about “supporting their family,” as if this were a first-grade ballet recital and not the third time this week Tadashi had seen the show—and had an entire row up front labeled as “reserved” for any of Karasuno that was coming to see it. Today, this entailed Tsukishima, Tadashi, Hinata, and Shimizu, in that order. Shimizu was deep in explaining something to Hinata, seemingly unaware of Tsukishima and Tadashi next to them. Tsukishima always looked especially uninterested on opening nights, partly because he more or less already knew how it was going to turn out, and partly because he just didn’t care.

Tonight, he cared.

“Tsukki,” Tadashi mumbled, and then had to say it louder because of the chatter of seats filling up around them. The psychic didn’t look up, which was already a bad sign. Tadashi said it a third time, more urgently: “Tsukki.”

“This isn’t good,” he said, and Tadashi could feel from where their knees were touching that he was shaking. “This isn’t— _shit_.”

“Tsukki, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Not yet.”

Tsukishima had said that a total of three other times in their life, and none of them had turned out very well. “Shit,” Tadashi agreed.

“I have to tell Daichi-san.” But people were settling down and the lights were dimming. “Yamaguchi—I have to—“

“I know, I know, I’ll—“ Tadashi swallowed. On the armrest of the seats, a hand hovered over Tsukki’s, debating whether to comfort. After a moment, he did. “Tell me what it is. I’ll go find him.”

“No!”

Tadashi flinched at the intensity of the response; Tsukishima was very rarely ever _intense_. At the outburst, Hinata and Shimizu paused in their conversation to give them a concerned look, Shimizu’s frown small and knowing. Tadashi smiled at them to let them know they were okay. Hesitantly, they turned away.

“I need to tell him,” Tsukki mumbled. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and folded his hands in his lap: a routine saved for times like these he would never admit to.

“They’ve already started, Tsukki.” And he was right: all lights were off except one, illuminating Daichi where he stood center stage. Tadashi had seen this a million times, the image of confidence and warmth despite the mask covering Daichi’s face from the audience. If he wanted to, Tadashi could mouth the words along with him. _Ladies and gentlemen, the show you’re here to see tonight…_

When he’d first arrived here, the entire concept fascinated him: a circus, a business, an orphanage, a home. Tadashi wasn’t as lonely as some of the others were—after all, even if he didn’t have parents, he had Tsukki and Akiteru, and that was more than a lot of them had—but the idea of helping people, and in such an unorthodox way (a fairytale way, he used to think, before he’d realized there was no such thing as _fairytale_ when it came to Karasuno) was something he could never quite wrap his mind around. It was overwhelming. It was beautiful. It was everything he’d never realized he wanted.

Next to him, Tsukishima wasn’t shaking anymore, but he had that look in his eye that meant he was thinking a mile a minute. Tadashi watched the way his jaw tensed and tried to rationalize, “We—we can’t interrupt the show…we’ll have to wait until the intermission—“

“It’ll be too late then.”

Tsukki was very cryptic when he was scared. “Okay. Okay, well, then, I guess—we’ll have to sneak backstage, but we’ll catch Daichi when he goes back for his costume change. Does—does that work?”

He looked like he wanted to protest— _no, it has to be right now_ , Tadashi imagined him thinking—but the rationality of it won. He didn’t relax, but he nodded stiffly.

“Right.” The witch glanced around them at the other audience members, watching Daichi with wonder. Yachi entered the stage, wearing a mask reminiscent of Daichi’s, her hair tied up behind her, the loose fitting clothes giving her a sense of androgyny. Behind her trailed Orthrus, following obediently, and Tadashi heard the children in the audience gasp at the sight of the beast.

Tadashi and Tsukishima made their way down the aisle, heading deceptively towards the exit where they’d make a circle to backstage, out of view of the audience. They were halfway there, Orthrus’s spot taken by three white tigers jumping through rings prematurely set on fire, when Tsukishima’s knees buckled.

“Tsukki!” Tadashi caught him before he hit the floor and helped him struggle to his feet shakily. They had barely made it outside the entrance to the big top; from here, they could still hear the appreciative _ooh_ s and _ahh_ s as Yachi performed. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” But he was still clutching Tadashi’s forearms. “I’m just…dizzy. Head hurts.”

“We need to find you a place to lay down—“

“But Daichi-san—“

“Tell me what it is and I’ll tell him, I promise, but you need to rest.”

“I’m fine—“

“Don’t bullshit me, Tsukki, you’re obviously not.”

Tadashi hadn’t meant to say it so loudly (or aggressively, for that matter), but the outburst seemed to have stunned Tsukishima into stopping his protests. Tadashi’s voice went soft with concern, and he put a hand on Tsukki’s where it still grasped his forearm. “Please. Just tell me.”

The psychic looked at him for a long moment, his breaths heavy like there was a weight on his chest. He opened his mouth and shut it just as quickly. He nodded. “Okay.” Once again, firmer this time. “Okay.”

 

\--

 

The lights didn’t dim so much as flicker, once, twice, until they went off completely. The audience waited, clearly believing it was part of the show, but began getting restless as the house stayed plunged in darkness, murmuring amongst themselves. The tigers on stage stilled, a mirror image of Daichi. His mask kept his expression hidden from the world, but the way he stood, completely motionless like a deer caught in headlights, was as much fear as he’d ever shown.

It was, Tetsurou thought, very satisfying.

One light clicked on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please!”

Heads swiveled around to face the stranger, standing up from the audience at the very highest row. The people sitting nearest him couldn’t seem to decide if they should have been afraid or not; it wasn’t like him to revel in others’ fear, but there was something about the power he held, the fear and confusion he could see behind Daichi’s posture even from this far away, that made him unable to stop a grin from spreading behind his own mask.

“I’m afraid to announce the show will be ending sooner than intended.”


	8. it's frozen still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His voice was a whisper, small: like wind. “It’s me.”
> 
> Even before he said it, Tetsurou felt his breath catch.
> 
> “It’s Kenma.”
> 
> \--
> 
> the tiny drink, and then a steal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! we're back significantly early than we said we'd be lmao cos we're just Overachievers
> 
> last chap got a loooooot of feedback which is crazy exciting and super cool and we're both v v v V thankful for any and all of it!!! we read all the comments and tags on bookmarks and we appreciate them so so so much, even tho we've decided to refrain from individual replies :0 that being said, if any1 sent asks over to our tumblrs abt this fic, we'd be more than willing to answer them........
> 
> also gray made a [playlist](http://8tracks.com/calliopinaround/you-really-hurt-me#smart_id=dj:819664) for this fic (of songs that relate to mv au and also just things he listens to when writing) so....yall shld check it out mayhaps......
> 
> **chapter TWs** : mentions of and (sort of) attempts at underage drinking b/c tanaka and noya r Bad Influence(tm); also, theres possession and like. issues w/ boundaries sort of?? but the possession is consensual (hence the current tag) and nothing dub or noncon happens
> 
> this chap is where the fic finally earns its kuroken tag :')

Suga didn’t technically allow any of them to drink. This was mostly because more than half of the members of Karasuno were not legal yet, and even more than that, most of the parties they threw were right before or after opening nights, which meant they couldn’t afford to be hung over the next day. In Tobio’s experience, the Tanaka siblings ignored this rule more often than not.

Their New Year's party was no different. Saeko snuck in bottles of sake, saying it was a “secret” when the others asked her where she got it (which meant she’d made a run to town sometime earlier in the day), and passed it around when Suga wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t condone underage drinking, but she didn’t exactly stop them when she noticed her brother sneaking someone to Nishinoya either.

Almost every opening night, Tanaka and Noya would try to convince Tobio to “loosen up” and drink with them. He always refused—because drinking, in his opinion, sounded like nothing but a disaster waiting to happen. Not being in total control of his actions and thoughts was not something Tobio particularly considered a “good time.” And besides that, vampires couldn’t get drunk as easily; it took more alcohol in his system to even affect him, so he didn’t see the point.

The two didn’t give up on him so much as stall their attempts. They usually let it drop after he said no, but every party, without fail, they would ask again.

Tobio hadn’t quite imagined their surprise when he finally said yes.

It wasn’t that he really wanted to get _drunk_ —he just wanted to…calm down. To stop being so worried all the time and stop thinking so much about things and people that didn’t matter, if only for one night. It was New Years and he hadn’t been sleeping well and his head was such a mess and he _knew_ they had a show the next night but Nishinoya did it all the time, didn’t he? Tobio would be fine, just this once. Besides, it would take a lot before he even teetered over the “tipsy” line.

Sugawara wasn’t blind by any means, and by this point had more than caught on to the shenanigans his acrobats got in to. He even caught Tobio’s eye more than once, but he, Daichi, and Asahi had been so stressed out lately that it seemed he couldn’t be bothered to care this time. He fussed at them once or twice but never took anything away. For the most part, the party passed smoothly.

Until—and Tobio had been using this phrase a lot lately—Hinata.

The redhead plopped down next to Tobio and didn’t even flinch when he received a glare. Undeterred, he smiled, crossed his legs, and asked, “Where’ve you been?”

“Um,” Tobio glanced around, “…here?”

He’d been outside on the steps of the porch for the past ten or so minutes, cup in hand. Even thought Karasuno was small as far as circuses went, sixteen people in one house, layered with loud music and chatter and the inescapable stench of alcohol (he cursed his strong sense of smell sometimes), was not something he enjoyed being around for more than a couple minutes. Tobio was, at heart, an introvert.

Hinata gave him a look. “Well, duh. But, like—why out here? Tanaka-san was looking for you.”

“I like it better quiet,” he mumbled, feeling stupid now that he had someone to point it out.

“Quiet’s…” Hinata frowned. “I don’t like it.”

“I noticed.”

He frowned further—more of a pout, really, Tobio thought—but didn’t push the comment. “ _Anyway_. You should come inside! Everyone’s having fun!”

Tobio glanced at the cup he was holding: half empty. He wondered how much more he would need before it even took effect. “Go inside yourself.”

“That’s boring.”

“There are fifteen other people in there,” he snapped, irritated now that he wasn’t being left alone like he wanted. “You’ll be fine.”

“Fourteen.” At the expression Tobio made, he explained, “There are fourteen people inside right now. You’re out here.”

They looked at each other for a solid moment, Hinata unflinching. Tobio took a sip of his drink, a quiet attempt to calm himself, and then blanched at the taste. He’d forgotten how gross it actually was.

Hinata perked up. “What’s that?”

“None of your business.” He pulled the cup closer to his chest so the other couldn’t look in it like he’d been trying to. “Why are you even out here in the first place?”

“I already told you. Tanaka-san wanted to know where you ran off to.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

Hinata scrunched up his nose in distaste, looking like an irritated puppy. Still, he didn’t respond and he didn’t move to get up. Tobio nudged his knee a little harsher than intended. Instead of getting him to move, he just turned to look at him.

Right as Tobio was starting to feel self-conscious, Hinata kicked his legs out from where they’d been crossed and stretched them out in front of him. “Do you have any siblings, Kageyama?”

Whatever he’d been expecting the other to say, it wasn’t that. “Why are you asking?”

“I just want to know,” Hinata shrugged. “I was thinking about Saeko and Tanaka-san.”

“It’s…” He debated how to answer. _No, I don’t have any siblings, except—it doesn’t matter—except—I do—except—_ Tobio’s mind was such a jumbled thing lately. Articulating words and sentences, telling others personal information about himself; it was all so _taxing_ , so _tangled_.

Hinata kept looking at him.

Tobio settled on, “It’s none of your business.”

A month ago, Hinata would’ve flinched at the harsh tone of his voice, then bristled, ready to fight over nothing. Now, he pouted, and when he’d decided that they’d sat in uncomfortable silence for long enough, started, “I do.”

“What?”

“Have siblings.” He paused and thought about it. “Or, um, one sibling.”

Tobio didn’t want to admit to being interested—because he _wasn’t_ , thank you very much, and if he’d thought about little else but Hinata for the past week (or two), it was only because Hinata was confusing and annoying and loud and so very _large_ in his presence; it only made sense he would take up so much mind space—but he shifted, waiting for the other to continue.

Hinata seemed to be thinking, or more accurately, lost in thought. Tobio asked as nonchalantly as he could, “Why aren’t you with them then?”

“She died.”

A pause. “…Oh.”

“I mean,” Hinata rushed to continue, seeming embarrassed about turning the conversation so serious, “it was when I was really little, like, before my parents passed and everything, and she was only just a baby, so she never lived with me in the orphanage or…”

Tobio waited. Hinata wasn’t done.

“Sometimes—I mean, I just wonder—was she, like…would she have been a shapeshifter too?” He bit his lip, picking at a stain on the knee of his pants. “The orphanage didn’t have any information on my family. They didn’t know _any_ thing about them, so, if they were shapeshifters too there’s no way to know…”

“I’m sorry,” Tobio offered once he’d found his voice again.

“Don’t be.” Hinata smiled, and it was sad. “It was a really long time ago, and I don’t even remember them much so I doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Around them, the wind blew. The trees surrounding the farmhouse rustled: restless beasts nearly waking. Tobio thought about the witching hours and the light he’d seen not more than a week ago. His chest felt heavy, like there was a weight keeping him from breathing right.

“Her name was Natsu.”

Tobio sucked in a breath.

Hinata seemed to realize what he’d been saying all at once. The atmosphere that allowed them to talk so openly disappeared. His face turned red. “Sorry—you _really_ didn’t need to know all that, um…I’m just gonna—inside. Now.”

The shapeshifter was pulling the door open, prepared to escape back inside, when Tobio forced himself to speak. “I had one.”

He didn’t have to turn around to know the expression Hinata was making. He resisted the urge to nervously shift where he sat, and his voice was quieter than he meant for it to be. “A…brother. Kind of. A long time ago.”

For all his babbling and embarrassment, Hinata caught on quickly. His voice matched Tobio’s. “’A long time’ by your standards or mine?”

“Both.”

“He’s not with you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Tobio answered anyway. “No.”

“Did he…?”

“No.”

“Right.” Hinata nodded, once, twice. Tobio feared for a moment that he would push the line of conversation— _what’s his name? Where is he if he isn’t dead? Why aren’t you with him? What happened between you? How is he only ‘kind of’ your brother?_ —but the questions never came. Hinata nodded a third time and turned back to the door. “You should come inside. Everyone’s missing you.”

Tobio doubted that, but hesitantly agreed anyway. He stood, still clutching his drink in one hand, tight enough for the plastic to crinkle beneath his fingers. “Right,” he mirrored.

Hinata smiled.

 

\--

 

Shimizu Kiyoko was not psychic.

That was Tsukishima’s job. No—she was a witch, and a competent one at that. However, she would have liked to think she had a knack for gut feeling. She was a logical person and appreciated viewing a situation from every angle before making decisions, but there was always something to be said about listening to your body, or at the very least taking it into account.

She woke the morning of the first feeling like it was going to be a long day. That was to be expected, she figured; after all, it was their first show in this city, and their first show in more than a month. Everyone was feeling the pressure and excitement of a new place and a new audience. Logically, it made more sense to disregard the feeling.

Now, faced with a masked stranger commanding the entire house, she thought she should have taken this one into account.

It worked in slow motion: the crowd realized it wasn’t a part of the show at the same time that there sounded the click of a gun, and from the front row, she watched Daichi and Yachi on stage as a ray of light moved towards them.

Daichi found his footing.

Yachi didn’t.

“Yachi-san!”

Before she knew what she was doing, Kiyoko was jumping over the gate onto the stage and towards the other witch. She just barely managed to grab Yachi and throw the both of them out of the way before the light landed on the ground behind them, exploding on contact. It kicked dirt into the air, and Kiyoko felt her lungs constrict. Yachi was still in her arms; her mask had come off in the commotion, and now she looked around, dazed and confused, blinking at the cloud of dust behind them.

“W-what was…?”

Kiyoko could hear Daichi behind them, and she felt the ground shake. She hesitantly let go of the other, reluctant to leave her on her own. “We need to get everyone out of here.”

“R…right.” Yachi nodded, and her expression steeled. This was Serious Yachi, ready to get shit done. “What about Daichi-san?”

“He’ll be okay for now.” Even as she spoke, she could hear the sounds of fighting, someone moving across the stage in a flourish, Daichi’s ragged breathing. She could feel his anxiety a mile away. Wherever Sugawara and Asahi were, they were sure to be feeling it too. “Let’s just focus on the audience. It’s too dangerous for them here.”

“What about the animals?”

_Shit_. Kiyoko forgot about that. “You take care of them. I’ll find someone to help me round everyone up.”

“Got it!”

Yachi was surprisingly strong willed when she needed to be. Kiyoko didn’t wait to watch the small girl leave, but she wanted to. “Be safe,” she said, but Yachi couldn’t hear her over the yelling.

She found Yamaguchi running inside a moment later, looking panicked. “T-tsukki—what’s—we need to—“

“Please, Yamaguchi-kun,” she stopped him, “I need your help getting everyone outside. Can you do that with me?”

He looked at her, eyes wide and wild, still breathing heavily. Yamaguchi flustered wasn’t an uncommon sight, but Yamaguchi _terrified_ was. He swallowed thickly, but nodded. “Y-yes. I can do that.”

“Thank you so much,” she said, already turning around to the crowds of people trying to push their way out the exit.

The two started waving people over, telling them where to go, that they would be okay and that it was being handled. “Is it actually being handled?” Yamaguchi asked. Kiyoko shook her head, and his face paled. “Oh.”

The masked stranger wasn’t alone. Around them seemed to materialize tens of hundreds of other people—accomplices, ready to kill. What they were even here for, Kiyoko had no idea. Even from this far away, she could tell Daichi was scared. There were too many of them. Karasuno was already small, but half of the members weren’t even fit to fight.

Whatever these people were here for, they would get it.

 

 

\--

 

Akaashi Keiji didn’t want to be doing this.

But he was anyway, because Kuroo needed their help, and he and Bokuto needed the money. They came in effectively blindfolded; Kuroo hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had no plan. Keiji had to be the one to sit down and think this entire thing through, and he’d been the one to come up with the idea of illusions, although it was Bokuto who’d gone through with them, if only because he was more powerful than Keiji.

Keiji was better on his feet. This, he found, proved to be more annoying than anything. Once the raid had officially started—as Kuroo had put it—Keiji moved to the stage, scanning for any sign of what they were here for in the first place. His path was blocked a moment later.

He remembered this one. “Sugawara.”

Sugawara remembered him. “Get out.”

The greeting was accompanied with a well-timed lunge, but Keiji sidestepped it easily, dodging the fists aimed at him barely a second later. “We don’t want trouble.”

“ _Trouble_?” Suga was burning with anger, and it reminded Keiji of Kuroo. The vampire’s movements slurred as he spoke, sloppy with rage. They went at each other, Suga attacking, Keiji dodging. “You attack us—publically, nonetheless—out of the blue after fifteen years, and you don’t want _trouble_?!”

The demon didn’t bother answering that one. It hadn’t been his idea. “We know you have him.”

“What?”

Suga’s confusion left him open. Keiji managed a roundhouse kick that sent the other sprawling, and offered, “Just tell us where he is, and we can leave.”

“Who the _hell_ are you _talking_ about?! What do you want from us?!”

That was odd. Either Suga was lying to throw them off, or Karasuno really didn’t know anything about it. They’d thrown around that possibility, mentioned it a few times even—but Kuroo was persistent, pissed off and ready for revenge. Right before they’d stopped the show, he told them, _“I’m not leaving without something. Even if it isn’t him, we’re not going back empty handed_.”

That would come back to bite him, Keiji knew. Most things did with Kuroo.

Keiji opened his mouth to respond, get to the heart of the issue, but with his thinking he’d given Suga the perfect opportunity to attack. Keiji dodged it, but Suga managed to hit his tail and send him to the ground. That one was going to bruise later.

He had enough time to mumble _shit_ before he had to roll out of the way. Suga wasn’t very strong in comparison to Asahi or Daichi—but he was still a vampire, and Keiji had his work cut out for him. He managed to get to his feet before Sugawara could try anything else.

“Did Kuroo send you?” Suga didn’t glance behind them, but Keiji could feel his desire to. Out of the corner of his eye, Keiji could see Daichi and Kuroo in their own fight; Daichi looked like he was losing. He wondered if Suga had recognized the booming voice from earlier, or if the masks had done their job in keeping his identity a secret.

There was no point in lying. He sidestepped another attack. “Yes.”

After that, there wasn’t any more talking. Suga seemed to have decided that was all he needed to know, and Keiji saw his eyes narrow in resigned concentration. Now, they weren’t playing around anymore.

What a pain.

 

\--

 

Tetsurou had forgotten just how strong Sawamura Daichi actually was.

The two were pretty evenly matched, unlike the last time they’d met. The last Daichi fought Tetsurou, Tetsurou was devastatingly overwhelmed; he was inexperienced, and quick to give in to impulse, and way in over his head. Daichi had years over Tetsurou, years and years, and it shown through in the way they moved: Daichi, oddly graceful for all his size, careful, every move planned and executed like it would be his last; Tetsurou, fast but sloppy, overconfident for someone who may as well learned to fight yesterday.

But it had been fifteen years since then, and Tetsurou wasn’t some awkward teenager with an aversion for picking fights with monsters his own size anymore. He’d planned for this. He’d prepared for this.

He was winning.

Tetsurou could tell he was when he saw the panicked backpedal, trying to put as much space between them as possible. Daichi knew the place he was in from the way he was being pushed further and further across the stage. Around them, they could hear the terrified knock of feet on concrete as the house emptied, Sugawara Koushi’s anger and Akaashi’s levelheaded response, someone shouting and lions roaring. It was a madhouse. It was chaos.

Tetsurou loved it.

“What do you want with us?” Daichi was saying, but Tetsurou made sure he couldn’t ask anything more without opening himself up to lose. He wasn’t going to hold back; he’d done too much of that lately.

Somewhere above them, Tetsurou knew, Bokuto was alone and concentrating on keeping the army of illusions going, and out of the corner of his eye, Tetsurou saw one lunge at one of Karasuno’s members—a tall dark-haired girl he’d never seen before. She dodged, clueless that it couldn’t hurt her. He hoped it would stay that way, at least for a little bit longer. Eventually, Karasuno would fight back, and realize their attacks didn’t land because there was nothing to land on. But until then it would buy them more time.

He needed to wrap this up.

Daichi stumbled and barely caught himself from falling. It hardly took a tap for Tetsurou to send him to the ground.

“Where is he?”

The vampire staggered to his feet, the mask still in place. Tetsurou wanted to rip it off. He almost did the same to his own.

Daichi didn’t take the offense. Tetsurou graciously gave him a moment to collect himself, hoping he would answer if he weren’t focused on keeping his ground. “Where is _who_?”

Tetsurou felt his blood boil. The night had all but consumed him, eaten away at his psyche—he hadn’t slept for nearly a week after it happened; when he did, he only had nightmares, and even now he still dreamt about it; his life hadn’t moved forward. What with the body he was stuck in, that night hadn’t _allowed_ him to move forward. He was still there, fifteen years ago.

But Daichi—Daichi who caused it, Daichi who held a life in his hands, Daichi who had completely changed Tetsurou’s world for the worst in the span of thirty minutes— _wasn’t_.

Tetsurou saw red. He didn’t even think to answer. “You _bastard_!”

He might have actually killed Sawamura Daichi then and there. He had given thought to murder—he wasn’t proud in saying that he had, but he saw it as an eye for an eye sort of deal. Daichi had taken a life. It only made sense for Tetsurou to take his—but he hadn’t come here tonight with the intent of killing anyone. The plan had been to get in, cause as much trouble as they could, find what they were looking for, and leave.

But Tetsurou was so _angry_. He hadn’t felt much of anything else recently; for a good moment, he wanted nothing but to see Daichi gasping for air that wasn’t there, to know that he was gone, that he got what he deserved, that Tetsurou hadn’t let him go—but there came the sound of sirens, and the illusions around them disappeared in a hurried flourish of smoke.

Tetsurou jumped away from Daichi, forced to leave their fight half finished. “We’re not done here,” he said, and it was meant as a promise.

Daichi pulled himself from the ground clumsily. Across the stage, Akaashi dodged Sugawara’s attack and plucked himself from the fight with practiced ease, disappearing much like the illusions had. Tetsurou couldn’t pull anything fancy like that, and would have to meet up with the two in a few minutes once he was sure no one was going after him.

But he was still so _angry_. Daichi hadn’t told him what he needed to know, hadn’t even begun to, and now Tetsurou didn’t have time to force it out of him. The police were on their way and would storm the place any minute.

Tetsurou wasn’t leaving empty handed.

He started retreating back to Bokuto and Akaashi, mind racing as he tried to think of what he could do. Tetsurou wasn’t in the business of playing dirty, but they were desperate at this point. Akaashi thought there was a chance that no one at Karasuno knew anything more than they did, but Tetsurou couldn’t believe that. If he could take something of _theirs_ , just to ensure that they were the ones in control…If Karasuno was at their mercy, they were sure to spill eventually.

Standing stock still and alone in one of the rows was a boy—and he really was just a boy, short and baby-faced with bright orange hair and an obviously panicked disposition. His eyes darted around the house, watching the chaos but never moving, either from fear or uncertainty. From where Tetsurou stood, he could see the boy’s mouth moving silently like he was speaking to someone.

Most of the members at Karasuno were strong, strong enough to hold their own, but Tetsurou knew a weak monster when he saw one. _Take something of theirs_.

The sirens were getting closer. Daichi was yelling behind him. Without thinking about it, Tetsurou grabbed the boy, a hand clasped over his mouth to keep him from yelling. He was halfway out the back exit before he heard someone yelling after him, a name—“Hinata”—and he knew they’d spotted him. He picked the boy up without a second thought and disappeared just as the cops made it to the scene.

 

\--

 

Bokuto was waiting for him when he made it out and blinked in surprise at the new addition. The boy—Hinata—was screaming now that Tetsurou didn’t have a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, a fist beating at his back and legs kicking, barely avoiding hitting him square in the jaw.

“Let me go!” He kept yelling, and Tetsurou had to hand it to him that he was very good at being loud. “Let me go, you—“

Before he knew what was happening, the boy in Tetsurou’s arms was no longer a boy, but a bird, squawking indignantly and flapping its wings in panic to get away.

“What the _fuck?_!” Tetsurou just barely managed to grab the crow before it could get away, struggling to keep from getting hit in the face by its wings. “Holy shit, calm down—!”

Akaashi and Bokuto just watched him struggle with the black crow. Bokuto’s face split into a huge grin. “ _Whoa_ , kid, that’s so fucking cool! How’d you do that? Kuroo, I like this kid!”

The bird stopped abruptly. It seemed to turn its eyes to Kuroo, looking like it was just seeing him for the first time, and slowly, hesitantly, it stopped trying to get away. Kuroo wasn’t sure why, or even if that was a good thing—but it sure made life easier for him in the moment, so he didn’t ask.

“Good,” he said instead, “thank you.”

“We need to leave.” Akaashi glanced purposefully in the direction of the police sirens, which hadn’t silenced in the past two minutes. “Now.”

“Right.” Tetsurou nodded and tightened his grip subtly on the bird, trying not to hurt it but trying to make sure it couldn’t suddenly get away. (Was it still even right to say “it” when he knew the bird was the boy from earlier?) “Bo?”

Bokuto grinned. “Let’s go!”

He grabbed Tetsurou’s shoulder without much warning, the other holding tightly onto Akaashi’s hand, and then there was darkness and the feeling of weightlessness.

When his senses were in working order again and he’d found his foot on solid ground, they were at Bokuto and Akaashi’s home: a large house out in the middle of backwoods nowhere. It was clever thinking on Bokuto’s part. There was little chance they would be found out here, in contrast with Tetsurou’s apartment smack dab in the middle of the city.

Hinata moved in Tetsurou’s arms where he’d been cradled, his talons digging into Tetsurou’s skin painfully. “Shit, dude, be careful with those!”

The bird squawked at him as if to say _No!_ but he didn’t spread his wings to get away, only moving again until he was settled more comfortably in Tetsurou’s arms. The way Hinata was acting towards Tetsurou was strange—not scared, and not like he’d try escaping the moment he were given the chance, but not like he _wanted_ to be there either. If anything, Tetsurou got the vibe that Hinata reluctantly trusted him, despite having done nothing but kidnap him as a way to get revenge.

Inside Bokuto and Akaashi’s home, the four monsters made themselves comfortable around the kitchen table, Hinata trotting along the table’s surface, seeming more interested in exploring the house than listening to their conversation. Tetsurou’s mask lay in front of them, bright red and staring back. It seemed to mock them for their failure.

“What do we do _now_?” Tetsurou asked them, running a hand through his hair as he watched their captive hop to Bokuto and hesitantly peck at his hand. When Bokuto moved to pet the bird, however, Hinata backed away, frightened by him, and came to stand next to Tetsurou for protection.

“Keep him until they come looking?” Bokuto suggested. “Or until he escapes.”

“He won’t escape,” Akaashi said. “He doesn’t want to.”

Tetsurou didn’t know how the demon knew that for sure, but he had to agree. “Okay, so then what? We bargain for him over information? Pretend we’d kill him if they didn’t tell us?”

“Don’t have second thoughts.” Akaashi gave him a look, piercing and knowing the way he’d always been. “You’re the one who kidnapped him.”

They held eye contact. Tetsurou relented first, sighing. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “But how long do you think we’re going to have to keep him?”

“They seemed very worried when they realized what we were doing,” Akaashi said, eyeing Hinata. “So, not long.”

“Fantastic.”

Bokuto glanced between the two of them and then back at the bird. “What kind of monster is he, do you think?”

“Demigod, maybe,” Akaashi offered.

“Shapeshifter.”

They both seemed surprised at the suggestion. Bokuto blinked. “Why do you think that?”

“Just a feeling.” Tetsurou shrugged it off. Although contextually it made more sense for Hinata to be a demigod or even a witch, considering they’d only seen him change into one animal, Tetsurou usually did a good job pinning a monster type, and now, he was feeling shapeshifter.

Hinata jumped off the table, landing about as ungracefully as a crow could get. It only took a split second, and then the bird was a boy again, and they had a redheaded teenager sitting on their kitchen floor looking dazed and only mildly upset.

“Are you Kuroo Tetsurou?” was the first thing out of his mouth. He was looking straight at Tetsurou, determination set in the crease of his eyebrows, but he didn’t seem angry, or even particularly concerned at having been kidnapped.

Tetsurou glanced at his friends for a moment as if they could tell him how to deal with this. “Yes,” he finally answered. “And you’re—“

“No, wait, stop, don’t—“ Hinata squeezed his eyes shut abruptly, pressing his hands to his head as if he were getting a migraine. “Stop, don’t talk, I need…”

“What’s going on?” Bokuto whispered, because the room had gone quiet to watch. Tetsurou and Akaashi both shook their heads. Hinata’s eyes were still closed.

When they opened again, they were staring straight at Tetsurou.

Yellow.

Hinata’s entire personality seemed to change. “Kuro…”

If Tetsurou hadn’t been sitting, his knees would’ve given out. His blood ran cold. “’K-kuro…’?”

There had only ever been one person who called Tetsurou that. He felt Bokuto and Akaashi tense, holding their breaths, to see what was going to happen next.

Even stranger, the boy began to cry. “Kuro,” he kept saying. “Kuro, kuro…”

“Who are you?” Tetsurou’s breath was coming out short. He spoke between rising panic. “Why are you calling me that?”

Hinata, in his sudden tears, had collapsed on the floor, knees hitting unceremoniously in a way Tetsurou could tell would bruise. He didn’t seem bothered by it; he just kept sitting there, looking between the tiled floor and Tetsurou’s face. A hand reached out towards Tetsurou, and it was shaking. “Kuro, it’s…”

Bokuto and Akaashi stayed resolutely quiet. They were going to let Tetsurou handle this one.

Gingerly, Tetsurou pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the tile. It sounded like thunder in the quiet of the room; Hinata’s tears were silent. He made his way to crouch in front of the boy, trying to calm his own panic. The fact that Hinata’s behavior, although odd, didn’t seem to show signs of hostility towards him only made him feel marginally better.

At eye level, he asked again, “Who are you?”

Hinata looked at him with those yellow eyes, made golden by his crying. The tears fell, quiet and unsuspecting. His voice was a whisper, small: like wind. “It’s me.”

Even before he said it, Tetsurou felt his breath catch.

“It’s Kenma.”

 

\--

 

Tsukishima had passed out only moments after he made it out of the big top. Tadashi hadn’t known then that he’d fainted; he was too busy trying to get everyone out, lost in the chaos. Once they were gone, though, he found his friend on the ground a few feet away from the entrance, pale white and limp.

Tadashi didn’t think he’d ever been as scared as he was then.

With Shimizu’s help, they got him inside the house, laying him on the nearest surface they could find. It happened to be the sofa in the living room, where he would spend the next few hours. Tadashi didn’t want to ask anyone else for help in taking care of Tsukki, because it was his fault in the first place for not getting him to the house the moment Tsukishima had started feeling badly—but he was also worried and desperate and so very, very scared. Shimizu noticed it, and offered her help.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” he’d said, but he’d also felt such a weight being lifted the moment she’d offered that he protested little else.

Shimizu found a spell for rapid healing in one of her many books and threw together something quick to nurse him back to health. Tsukishima woke fifteen minutes later, groggy and in pain.

Tadashi had been sitting by the sofa the whole time, and so when he realized his friend was waking, he had to do little else but perk up and exclaim, “Tsukki!”

“Too loud,” Tsukishima slurred, words heavy. He blinked around the room. “What…?”

Shimizu handed him a glass of water and turned to Tadashi. “I need to be with Daichi-san right now,” she said. “Can you take care of him while I’m gone?”

“Of course.” He bowed. “Thank you so much for your help.”

She smiled gently, the kind that reminded him of his mother, and closed the door behind her. That left the two alone.

Tsukishima set his glass on the coffee table and sat up slowly, waving away Tadashi’s worried look. “What happened?”

“Um…” The witch bit his lip. “Well…I guess you already know the most important parts.”

It was quiet for a moment. “I was right.”

Tadashi nodded, and bit his lip harder to keep it from trembling. _Stop it, don’t cry in front of Tsukki, don’t cry, don’t cry…_ But he couldn’t help his voice from cracking. “I’m sorry.”

Tsukishima shifted where he sat, the blankets Shimizu had provided him with rustling as he moved. Out of the corner of his eye, Tadashi saw him push his glasses up. “Don’t be.”

“But I didn’t get to tell them in time—“

“It would have happened anyway.”

They were both quiet.

Tsukki wasn’t very good at being gentle. In all the years they had known each other, Tadashi had become intimately aware of this. Tsukishima was callous when he wanted to be, harsh and cold and a little bit of a jerk. He didn’t really know _how_ to be soft, how to be comforting. People seemed to think he’d ended up that way for lack of the trait in the first place— _Tsukishima just isn’t capable of that_ —but Tadashi had seen him bright-eyed and wide-eyed and trusting. Tadashi knew he hadn’t been born not knowing; he’d forgotten.

The living room’s clock ticked away the seconds. Tsukishima was trying to relearn.

“It’s my fault,” he started. “I didn’t realize it soon enough.”

“Tsukki—“

“Don’t lie.”

Tadashi bit his lip again, and felt the tears overspill even as he begged them silently not to. Tadashi was so loud in his sadness. He wasn’t a quiet crier. Even if he turned his face away, even if he wiped them up as quickly as he could, Tsukki would still notice.

He did. “Yamaguchi…”

“Th-they took Hinata.”

Tsukki stilled, only for a moment. Then his shoulders relaxed and he was back to his impassive demeanor.

“They took H—“ Tadashi hiccupped. “H-hinata, and Daichi-s-san is really shaken up about it and—“

In his tears, Tadashi had closed his eyes, refusing to see his friend’s expression. He felt a hand on his, where it clenched around the couch’s cushion. He opened his eyes. “T-tsukki…?”

“I’m sorry.”

_Sorry_ …? He blinked twice, crying stopped in his confusion. “S-sorry? But you weren’t even…”

“Like I said.” Tsukishima didn’t let go of his hand, but fiddled with his glasses with the other. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

The clock ticked. They didn’t say anything for a long time, and Tadashi’s tears subsided. In the silence, he nodded, and felt the psychic’s hand tighten around his.

His voice came out a hoarse whisper. “What are we supposed to do, Tsukki?”

“I suppose,” Tsukishima said, “the first step is to find him.”

 

\--

 

For a long time, neither of them moved. Akaashi and Bokuto left the room not soon after Tetsurou collapsed on the floor, shutting the door behind them as quietly as they could—not that Tetsurou noticed. They probably assumed that he wouldn’t want them to see him in such a state, which was, although the last thing on his mind, a sentiment Tetsurou appreciated.

Hinata—no, _Kenma_ was still shaking, his nails digging into Tetsurou’s arm where he was holding on, although that could’ve just been from his crying. Kenma had always cried so _fully_ ; with his whole body. When they were little, he hated it, because there was no way to get around bringing attention to himself when he was hiccupping and shuddering and shaking. He would try to pass it off like it was nothing— _“I’m fine, Kuro, stop looking at me like that”_ —even as he had to take a moment to steady his own breathing. Even if Kenma hated it, it had always been just another thing about him that Tetsurou loved.

And Tetsurou loved everything about him.

It could have been hours before either of them spoke. When they did, it was Tetsurou who went first, his voice hoarse from crying and misuse. “H-how?” He stumbled to get the word out from under his tongue.

Kenma didn’t pull away from the other, but shifted so they were pressed closer together. His voice was Hinata’s, and it was a loud reminder to Tetsurou that this was temporary—even more than temporary, this was _someone else’s_ _body_ they were using right now. The same someone else that Tetsurou had just kidnapped and planned to keep as a hostage.

“I don’t know,” Kenma said, and his voice cracked like Tetsurou’s. “I don’t know, but I’ve been—I’ve been…dead, I think, and for some reason, I’m…bound to Hinata like this…”

“Bound?”

“Hinata thinks of it as me haunting him.”

Tetsurou nodded, tightening his hold on the witch. “Like a ghost.”

Kenma laughed, and it was unsettling to hear his Kenma laughing from a stranger’s body, even more to see the way Hinata’s red hair bounced when they shifted. Tetsurou looked away. He wanted to pretend a little longer.

“Yes, Kuro, like a ghost.”

_Kuro_.

Tetsurou felt his eyes watering again and blinked the tears away. “So, are you…?” He didn’t finish the sentence. There were too many things to finish it _with_.

“I’ve been bound to Hinata since that night,” Kenma began. “He—we, well, we found…Karasuno, and he was staying there, and…”

“And I just happened to kidnap the one person you’re stuck with.”

Kenma nodded.

Hesitantly, Tetsurou raised a hand to tuck a piece of hair behind Kenma’s ear—then stopped. He wanted to be able to pretend it was like before—before Daichi, before Karasuno, before Tetsurou’s anger and Bokuto’s pity and Hinata. But it wasn’t possible to do that when Kenma was looking at him through Hinata’s eyes: a borrowed thing.

“You asked to possess him, didn’t you?” Tetsurou didn’t need the affirmative nod to know he was right. “And he let you. Just so we could talk.”

The witch looked down and bit a stranger’s lip. “He’s…”

“Your friend.”

There was no nod this time. Kenma had caught on that Tetsurou didn’t need it.

Outside the kitchen window, the sun was beginning to lower: a pink shadow over the horizon. Bokuto and Akaashi’s house was beautiful and had always been, but it was a quiet beauty that you forgot about until the sun lowered or rose or you reunited with your best friend again after fifteen years of searching for him.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour since they left Karasuno.

“How much time do we have?” Tetsurou asked, and his voice was quiet—the one he reserved only for Kenma. Tetsurou had had an almost childish fear that if he didn’t use that voice, he would forget how, and so on nights when his dreams were too bad or he couldn’t get his eyes to close he would sit in the dark and speak like Kenma was there to listen again. It was always little stories—things he had done that day, stupid stuff Bokuto had said, a memory that he couldn’t seem to stop replaying in his mind, a phrase that had stuck itself to the underside of his brain and never let go. He talked about saving Kenma a lot. About seeing him again.

And now, for the first time in fifteen years, here was Kenma—alive—sort of—and speaking to Tetsurou, calling him “Kuro” and crying with his whole body.

“Karasuno has a psychic,” Kenma said, and his voice was just as soft. “If we’re lucky, it will take them the rest of the night to figure out where you are. But it shouldn’t be any longer than that.”

“You’ll have to leave.”

“Hinata needs his body back, Kuro.”

Tetsurou laughed: humorless. “I know.”

And if they didn’t figure something out, Karasuno would find them and hardly think to _bargain_ when they would then know where Tetsurou was staying. “You’ll have to leave.”

Kenma didn’t point out that he already said that. He only pulled them closer.

The kitchen clock ticked behind them, mocking. _Tick. Tick. Tick._ Their time was up soon, sooner and sooner as the hand _tick, tick, tick_ ed. Tetsurou held back from laughing at the irony of it all—to think, he’d been trying for over a decade to make time move forward for himself again, and now here he was, hoping it would stand still. But he guessed his life had never been that easy.

“I wish you had your body back,” he said, and now it was less than quiet—it was a whisper. “I could kiss you and never stop.”

“Hinata wouldn’t appreciate that.”

Tetsurou really did bark out a laugh this time. “No, I don’t think he would. It’s already nice enough of him to let us have this, even just for rent.”

“I want to stay longer.”

The honesty in Kenma’s voice threw Tetsurou off guard for a moment. Kenma had never been a big talker, never been big on letting others in on what he was thinking, what he was _wanting_. He never told anyone, and so the needs and wants were hardly met. Tetsurou would ask him, _what is it you want, Kenma?_

Now, Kenma answered. _To stay longer_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally the plan was 15 chapters but we're both thinkin its gonna end up more like 20....we havent changed the chap numbers yet just b/c we're not sure if 20 is the goal or if its gonna go over, so even tho it says we're more than half way done, the storys rlly only 1/3 of the way there :')
> 
> tell us what u think!!


	9. open a moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We need to talk."
> 
> \--
> 
> suga is emotion. and also gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative chapter title: 15.8k of daisuga
> 
> hello, we're back!!! we're behind schedule but gray spent 8 consecutive hrs yesterday writing so luckily not Too far behind. this chapter was a huge pain in the ass, not bc it wasnt fun to write but bc it took So. Long. like jesus CHRIST. but on the bright side its the backstory chap!!! 
> 
> u may have noticed that the tags "vampire gang" and "past child abuse" have been added. this is bc both of those things r v prominent in this chapter (and also vamp gangs will become super relevant later on but...[eyeball emoji]) so relating to that.....
> 
> **chapter TWs** : parental abuse, murder/death (this is where the fic begins to earn its m rating), lots of implied gang violence, and mild disordered eating (it isnt necessarily intentional, and its not rlly "eating" considering its drinking blood, but the warning is here jic). none of the abuse or violence is super explicit, but we still advise any readers to be careful if ur bothered by these things!
> 
> as always, happy reading!!!

Kuroo Tetsurou wasn’t a scary man so much as he was a sad one.

Shouyou had of course been scared of him originally—he had been _kidnapped_ , after all—but the way that Kenma had acted upon hearing Kuroo’s name let Shouyou know he was important to Kenma, and anyone important to Kenma _had_ to be a good person, Shouyou reasoned. So he stopped being scared.

It was an odd experience, being possessed—Shouyou hadn’t even been aware until it happened that Kenma could take over his body if he wanted. It felt like one of those dreams, where Shouyou could see and hear and feel everything but he wasn’t the one in charge. He could speak to Kenma in his head—a weird, telepathic-ish thing that freaked him out at first—but other than that, he had no way of contacting anyone. Even odder was hearing his own voice paired with Kenma’s words.

Shouyou felt like an intruder. He had to watch the two cry and collapse on the floor when it was clear that this wasn’t for his eyes; this was for them only. The other two monsters that had been in the room seemed to think that too, because they left not soon after Kenma started speaking. Shouyou was entirely alone then.

It lasted thirty minutes, maybe an hour, and then Shouyou felt the tug of Kenma pulling back, detaching himself from their joint body for his barely corporal form instead. Shouyou had a few seconds of weightlessness and then a splitting, _excruciating_ headache, and then it was gone and he was Shouyou again, knees still pressed into the kitchen floor. Kuroo was standing up, and when he realized Shouyou was back to Shouyou, he turned away. Shouyou pretended not to notice.

He stood up on shaky legs, trying to figure out how to work his own muscles again. Apparently an hour was too long to go without a body. A door to the right of the kitchen opened, and the man from earlier—the one that had tried to pet Shouyou—popped his head out.

“Are we good to come in?” he asked.

Kuroo nodded, but he still kept his face away from them. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

The man pushed the door open, the other monster from earlier trailing behind him. They were both pretty, in an…odd sort of way. The first man had hair like an owl, black and white and styled upwards, and eyes like a predator. When he grinned, his teeth weren’t sharp, but they had a glint to them that almost made Shouyou wish they were. He wasn’t an immediate threat; he was a sleeping beast. Shouyou was scared to wake him.

The second man reminded Shouyou of Kenma—sleepy eyes and a quiet disposition. He wasn’t pretty in a conventional way, but a soft way, the kind that made Shouyou more nervous to be around him the longer he stayed there. Two black, glistening horns sprouted from his head around dark hair—a flashing red sign that even Shouyou couldn’t miss, reading “demon.” Behind him followed a tail, flicking as he moved in an odd sense of harmony. This monster had grown into his skin and would probably never grow out.

Four people in the room—not including Kenma, who stayed silently behind Shouyou (Shouyou pretended not to realize he was still crying)—and none of them said anything for a long, long moment. The silence dragged. Shouyou felt himself growing restless.

The owl-ish man was the first to speak. “So,” he said, and it already sounded like a question, “what now?”

Kuroo turned to face his friends now, offering them a smile that even Shouyou could tell was watered down. “Now we figure out what to do with…” He paused. His eyes flicked to Shouyou.

“What, me?” Everyone else but Shouyou had sat down, and now he stood in the middle of the kitchen, pointing to himself dumbly.

“Yes, you,” Kuroo said not unkindly. “Hinata, right?”

“Hinata Shouyou.”

Shouyou’s kidnapper sucked in a breath. He released it through his teeth, a slow, desperate whistle. He was clearly at a loss of what to do. “Hinata Shouyou,” he repeated. “Right. So, what do _you_ think we should do with you?”

The words _take me home_ were on his tongue before he could even process the question. He stopped himself before it could leave his mouth, thinking it over. What _should_ they have done with him? He wanted to go back to Karasuno, of course, but—but Kenma was _bound_ to him, and this man was bound to Kenma. How could he go back to Karasuno when they clearly didn’t get along? Daichi had done something—or Kuroo had done something—or _someone_ had done something that had caused the assault on Karasuno.

Shouyou needed to stay in a place where he could speak to both groups. He wasn’t going to leave Karasuno for Kuroo, but he wasn’t going to force Kenma to leave Kuroo, not when they clearly loved each other so much, not when it was their first chance to see each other in how-many-years…

He thought it over some more.

“You should take me back,” he said. Kuroo opened his mouth, maybe to agree, maybe to protest, but Shouyou continued, “But I need to keep seeing you.”

The three other occupants seemed to blink in unison. Kuroo’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You want to keep seeing Kenma, right? But he has to use my body to speak to you, so that means _I_ gotta keep seeing you too.”

Seated at the table, the second man frowned. He only seemed prettier because of it. “Kuroo-san, are you really going to…?”

Kuroo wasn’t looking at any of them. He stared at the floor like it was personally responsible for the situation he’d been put in, frowning with furrowed eyebrows. Kuroo was dark-haired and pale, skin like he hadn’t slept or eaten well for the past couple of days, and the scar over his right eye—a sloppy, painful looking _x_ —stood out more because of it. Regardless, he fell under the same category of “unconventionally attractive” that his friends did.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.

Shouyou looked between the three of them. “What’s wrong?”

“Shouyou…” Kenma was whispering.

“You’re part of Karasuno,” the owl-ish man said as if that explained everything. Kuroo’s mouth parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t get the words out. Shouyou had to stop him.

“Hold on, Kenma’s talking to me.”

Kenma had hardly looked away from Kuroo the entire time he’d returned to his ghostly form. Now, he flicked his eyes away from him so he could look to Shouyou, already trembling. “Sho. They’re going to get here soon.”

“Who are?”

“Daichi.” He paused. “And Kageyama.”

Shouyou blinked, trying to make sense of the information. “Wait, you mean—they’re looking for me?”

“Not looking anymore.” The ghost bit his thumb in a very alive gesture of anxiety. “They’re on their way already. We all need to get out of here.”

From behind them, the first of Kuroo’s friends spoke up. “What’s goin’ on?”

Shouyou passed what Kenma had told him on. When he was done, the three looked grave. Kuroo crossed his arms and nodded. “Okay. We’ll leave.”

“Where will we take him then?” The demon asked.

“He’s staying here.”

“ _What_?” Shouyou was already beginning to panic. What were they leaving him here for? What happened when Daichi and Kageyama showed up and there was no one there but Shouyou? Had he been stupid in trusting Kuroo wouldn’t hurt him? Had he been stupid in trusting his _friends_ wouldn’t hurt him?

“As much as I was looking forward to speaking with Daichi-san again,” Kuroo gave a miniscule grin at his own remark, “we can’t be here when they show up. If they’re already on their way, we can just let them find you here while we escape. Since you’re unharmed and clearly no longer being used as a hostage, they might forget about the entire escapade.”

“They won’t.” Shouyou didn’t know how he was so sure of that, but he was. Daichi wouldn’t forget this, and he wouldn’t forgive it either. Whatever had happened between the two of them, it ran much deeper than a publicity stunt on their opening night.

“Worth a try,” Kuroo shrugged, and some of the confidence from the raid seemed to return. This wasn’t shivering, lungs-collapsing Kuroo anymore; this was _ladies and gentlemen,_ red-masked Kuroo. From the sidelines, Shouyou had watched this Kuroo turn the house upside down with a few words and a dramatic flourish of the hand, watched him break Daichi so badly that he’d almost lost his life because of it, watched him command the army of illusions like they were life-sized marionettes. This Kuroo was in his element, comfortable in a boyish sense of madness.

But like Shouyou said: Kuroo Tetsurou was not a scary man. Only a sad one.

“What are your names?” Shouyou asked as they were getting ready to leave the house. They were cleaning things up quickly, trying to make it seem less lived in.

Kuroo glanced at him. “This is Bokuto Koutarou,” he gestured to the owl-ish man lazily, and Bokuto waved, grinning. Then, to the demon: “And Akaashi Keiji.”

“Oh.” Shouyou waved back at Bokuto, somewhat hesitantly. He was still cautious of this sleeping beast. “Um…hi.”

“Are you a demigod?” Bokuto asked, and he looked so excited that Shouyou felt a little guilty for the answer he had to give.

“Uh—no, sorry…” He tried to smile. Kenma was watching the exchange from behind them with a sad, nostalgic upturn of the lips. “I’m a shapeshifter.”

“Kuroo-san was right,” Akaashi mumbled, and Bokuto frowned much too heavily for what the situation required. He perked up not a moment later, turning back to Shouyou.

“That’s so cool!” he enthused, and it reminded Shouyou of Nishinoya and Tanaka. But his eyes took on a sharp glint that wasn’t characteristic of the werewolves—and Shouyou shifted in his seat, cautious of those eyes.

Akaashi seemed to know whatever it was Bokuto was thinking. “Stop it.”

“I didn’t even do anythin’!”

“You were thinking it.”

Bokuto pouted. “You’re no fun during work, Keiji.”

“And,” Kuroo clapped loudly, “we’re leaving right now if we don’t want them to catch up with us.”

Shouyou sat at the kitchen table watching Akaashi and Bokuto disappear out the door, Bokuto calling goodbye on his way. Kuroo was the last one out, lingering for a few moments longer than necessary.

“Take—“ His voice cracked, and he still wasn’t looking at Shouyou. He tried again. “Take care of him, Hinata.”

“I will.” It was meant as a promise.

The three disappeared the same way they’d gotten here, and Shouyou was left alone.

 

\--

 

Daichi and Kageyama found him like that, sitting on the side of the road in front of the house half-dozing off, Kenma existing quietly next to him. The ghost hadn’t said anything since he’d warned them, but Shouyou had tried speaking into the silence the way he always did. He was telling a story about Natsu—one of the only memories he still had of his late sister—when a car pulled up to him.

Shouyou stood up and dusted the dirt off his pants. Daichi was the first one out, the door slamming behind him unceremoniously. “Hinata!”

“I’m okay,” he said before the vampire could even ask. Daichi fussed at him in an oddly parental way. Shouyou had heard stories from other members of Karasuno about Daichi being almost fatherly like that, but he’d never experienced it until now. In all honesty, he’d hardly gotten to know Daichi at all in the month he’d lived with him.

Kageyama wasn’t nearly as gentle. He stomped up to the two, glaring impressively. “You _dumbass_! How did you manage to get _kidnapped_?!”

Shouyou had been ready to fall asleep for the past half hour, but he still found enough energy to get angry right back. “Hey! It’s not _my_ fault!”

“Hinata’s right.” Daichi put a hand between them diplomatically. “But that doesn’t matter right now. Why are you alone?”

Surely they’d been expecting having to give up something in return for Shouyou. Instead, Shouyou thought, they got him alone in the middle of nowhere. “They left.”

Kageyama took a step forward, pushing the line of Daichi’s makeshift barrier. “What do you _mean_ they left?”

“I mean they _left_ ,” Shouyou huffed. “They took me here and then disappeared.” Although not the whole truth, he figured it wasn’t a lie either. Until he spoke to Kenma about what they were going to do with Kuroo, he decided to omit the details.

“Disappeared,” Daichi repeated, and he looked the way he had during the raid—eyes vacant in a terrified way. “Did…did they say anything to you?”

“Um…a little bit.”

“Well then, what’d they say?” Kageyama demanded, when it became clear Shouyou wasn’t giving anymore.

“You can tell us on the way.” Daichi swallowed thickly. “For now, let’s get back to the house. We can’t stay here long, and I’m sure Karasuno could use our help.”

They piled into the car, Shouyou in the back (after he lost a very well fought fight with Kageyama for shotgun). Kenma pressed a hand against the window’s glass, looking like he was searching for something. In the past hour and a half, Shouyou had gotten good at pretending he hadn’t noticed.

Daichi started the car, and even from the backseat, Shouyou could see that his hands were trembling. Kageyama must have realized it too; he glanced at Daichi, something akin to worry in the crease of his eyebrows, and then back at Shouyou. They shared a moment of mutual concern for Karasuno’s creator.

All three of them were silent, despite Daichi’s claim that Shouyou could “tell them on the way.”

“I didn’t know you guys even had a car,” said Shouyou, after five minutes too many of this thick atmosphere. Kageyama snorted.

“Of course you didn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Daichi sighed through his teeth—a mirror image of Kuroo’s breath from earlier. “Don’t start, you two.”

The way he said it, far too tired for a man as young as he, made them both shut up. Kageyama looked genuinely apologetic for a moment, and Shouyou mused that he was seeing a lot more of his emotions today. He wondered if he’d have to get kidnapped again if he wanted to see more.

It was nearly an hour drive back. Shouyou asked why they’d driven this time instead of getting Yamaguchi to scry.

“Karasuno’s…hectic right now.” Daichi’s fingers tightened around the wheel. “We couldn’t afford to bring more than two people right now, not with the police there and the house wanting their money back.”

“So,” Shouyou looked between the two, “you guys came to get me?” He found it hard to believe that Kageyama had come to his rescue of his own volition. He figured Daichi had made him, or that anyone else had been too busy, or…

“Right.” The vampire nodded.

There was a beat.

“They didn’t hurt you?”

It was Kageyama that asked, looking far too nervous to be asking something as simple as that. His ears twitched timidly, and Shouyou stared at them. He hadn’t known vampires’ ears could do that.

“I mean—besides being manhandled and treated like a pet,” he remembered to answer, “no, they didn’t hurt me.”

“A pet?” Kageyama gave him a weird look.

Shouyou’s eyes widened in his excitement. “Oh! I almost forgot—“ He turned to Daichi. “I shapeshifted! Like, fully!”

Through the rearview mirror, Daichi’s eyebrows raised. “You did? That’s awesome!”

“It sucks that it was because of this, though,” Shouyou continued, trying to ignore the way Daichi’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was attempting desperately to raise the mood of the car, but it didn’t seem to be working.

“One good thing out of it,” Daichi mumbled. They made a sharp turn; Shouyou nearly toppled over.

Outside, trees passed them in an unintelligible blur. The sun had already set, and now, headlights were the only things to guide them. Kenma was still looking out the window.

No one else was speaking. Kenma said, “You should ask them.”

_Ask them about what_? Shouyou, unable to respond, waited for Kenma to offer anything after that.

He did. “About Kuroo. Why he was there in the first place.”

Daichi made another turn. Shouyou nodded, just small enough for Kenma to see. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been curious about Daichi and Kuroo and whatever was between them—it was just that there were so _many_ things to ask that he didn’t know where to begin.

Shouyou caught Kageyama glancing at him. Instead of letting the vampire turn around and pretend he hadn’t been, Shouyou asked, “How do you guys know Kuroo?”

The car swerved, only a little, and Daichi looked like he was going to be sick. Feeling guilty, Shouyou tried to take it back. “Ah, no—sorry, you don’t have to answer that, I was just…”

The three of them were prone to bouts of silence, apparently. Kageyama looked between the two of them and seemed to make his mind up. Shouyou probably wasn’t meant to see the way Kageyama elbowed Daichi gently, but he was very good at seeing things not meant for him today.

“How do you know his name?” Daichi’s voice was deceptively calm.

“The other two called him that.”

Shouyou felt like that was the wrong answer for a moment, when he was met with another lack of response, but it seemed that this wasn’t an easy thing to talk about. Daichi kept having to stop and calm himself.

“It’s…a long story,” he said. “It might be best to wait until we get there. So we can sit down and…” _Explain_ was probably the next word in that sentence. At least, Shouyou hoped it was.

 

\--

 

Koushi didn’t usually tire easily; being the co-founder of an entire circus could do that to a person. He was used to pulling all-nighters and working until he could hardly move and pushing himself to the very edge of his limits (and he did that often), body heavy with exhaustion even as it drove itself forward. Even outside of physically, he would’ve liked to think he was strong emotionally as well. Being the co-founder of Karasuno would do that to a person.

That being said: he had never been more ready for eight-hours of sleep in his entire life.

Akaashi was a capable fighter. Koushi didn’t really like to admit it, but the demon gave him a run for his money—even though their fight had been cut short, Koushi still felt the weight of it in his muscles and the bruises on his knees. As if that weren’t bad enough, immediately after Akaashi had disappeared, the police showed up, probably called by a scared audience member at the peak of the raid. By the time they got there, however, the three intruders were already gone. Koushi shouldn’t have been surprised. This wasn’t new.

The police spoke to him for a while, asking too many questions for Koushi’s comfort. This was why he hadn’t been fond of getting them involved; the police force, although legally integrated, was comprised ninety-nine-percent of humans, all of which seemed to be under the impression that whatever had gone down tonight had been the result of something they’d done. Which, Koushi had to admit, wasn’t entirely wrong—but they didn’t know that. And besides, they were little help. This was Karasuno’s problem to deal with, their baggage to carry. They didn’t need outsiders getting involved.

Almost two hours ago, Kageyama and Daichi had gone to find Hinata with the integral help of Tsukishima, and although Koushi knew that he shouldn’t have worried so much—they were both very capable on their own, he knew from experience—he still found himself glancing between the kitchen’s clock and the front door, waiting for it to open and the three to tumble in safely.

One of Koushi’s strengths was keeping a positive attitude even under pressure; that was part of what made him such an important backbone to Karasuno. Even if he wasn’t in the spotlight, even if he wasn’t the leader—he was their support, and lord knew these children needed it. When Daichi had first told him about the idea, Koushi had been more than honored to be included in Daichi’s world, but it had felt silly for him to ask Koushi of all people to join the _circus._ He wasn’t good at anything but fighting. What could he have possibly contributed to such a radical system?

“Support,” Daichi had said, such a serious expression in place that Koushi couldn’t help but laugh.

“Support,” he repeated incredulously. “You want me to _support_ everyone? Daichi, what good am I if I can’t do anything but _support_ them?”

“Plenty good.” Although the conversation felt silly to Koushi at the time (him, a cold-blooded murderer, a vampire without direction, a dead thing who had been raised to do nothing but fight and kill and hurt, _helping_ other people? Helping _children_?), Daichi was more than serious about it. He must have known that Koushi would come around to it in time. “The point is to give monsters a place to belong. We can assume they’ll have gone through some pretty traumatic stuff, and they’ll need someone stable to be there with them. Clearly,” he smiled crookedly, “I don’t fit that job description, so I need you.”

_Someone stable_. That had been another thing that Koushi laughed at, at the time. Him? Someone stable? More stable than _Daichi_? It sounded ridiculous.

(It only took another two weeks for him to begin liking the idea, though.)

So, that became his job: Karasuno’s backbone, Karasuno’s caregiver, Karasuno’s guardian angel. He was good at it. He had to be.

But in light of this—this, this skeleton in the closet, this purposeful resurrection of old mistakes—it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep that up.

Akaashi had told him something during their fight. _“Just tell us where he is_.” That had been more than an odd statement to throw Koushi off. Kuroo had been looking for something, and Koushi had no idea what that “something” was.

He was scared.

Just as it turned seven, Kageyama and Daichi stumbled through the doorway with Hinata in front of them, like they were afraid to let him out of their sight. All of Karasuno’s members had found refuge in the living room, sitting in near silence just for the sake of being with one another. At the sound of the door opening, thirteen different heads looked up. Koushi was the first one to move.

“Hinata-kun!”

Koushi hadn’t been raised to be a very physical person, but found comfort in it once it became accepted as a part of his life. There was a time when he would’ve been cautious to get close to another person and even shied away had they offered contact, but now he didn’t stop to think before enveloping Hinata in a hug. “Oh thank god!”

The shapeshifter hugged him back, but Koushi pulled back a second later to get a better look at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Outside of disheveled hair and an air about him that made it very clear he was as tired as Koushi was, Hinata looked unharmed. The boy shook his head. “I’m okay, Suga-san, really.”

Koushi released a breath and finally let go of Hinata, taking a step back to give him his space. He hugged Kageyama next—Kageyama wasn’t very fond of most forms of physical interaction, but he seemed to make an exception for Koushi, if only because Koushi was the one closest to him at Karasuno. “You’re okay too? Nothing happened on the way here?”

Kageyama shook his head. “We’re…” He glanced at Daichi. “Fine.”

The past couple of weeks had been hard on Daichi, and it showed in the bags under his eyes and the sloppy, ungraceful way he walked. He was normally a very coordinated person, if only because he had to be, so Koushi could tell when something was really bad by the way he carried himself.

Normally, they weren’t big on PDA. But—dammit—they’d just been attacked by someone they thought they’d left behind them and Hinata had been _kidnapped for God’s sake_ and Koushi deserved to kiss his goddamn boyfriend at least _once_.

So he did, and it was desperate, because Koushi was still feeling the relief of knowing they were back and safe, that he hadn’t lost them, any of them. It had been a long day.

“We’re fine,” Daichi said once they parted, agreeing with Kageyama.

Koushi frowned. “Your hands are shaking.”

“Too much caffeine.”

It was a bad enough joke that Koushi snorted. He took a step back because Hinata and Kageyama both were beginning to look a little uncomfortable, and he figured they’d endured enough discomfort for one day.

From beside him, Daichi took a deep breath.

“We need to talk.”

 

\--

 

Kei had the worst migraine of his life.

And that was saying something. He’d endured plenty of headaches throughout his fifteen years, as psychics tended to do. It came with the territory, especially with the way he seemed prone to accidentally pushing himself too far. They went away within a few hours most of the time, as long as he stayed away from loud noises and bright lights. He was inured to the whole situation, and fairly capable of taking care of himself.

The issue with this was that it had been more than few hours and his head was still _splitting_. Yamaguchi had given him aspirin after he woke up, but it seemed to do little help. His mouth was still dry, despite how much water he drank, like he’d tried to swallow cotton balls and gotten them stuck on the way. The only upside was that, for once, everyone at Karasuno was deathly quiet.

It was hardly ever quiet with them. If Kei’s headaches got too bad or he wanted to get away, he had to lock himself in his and Yamaguchi’s shared room, and even then he could usually still hear everyone chattering and arguing and laughing all the way from downstairs. The house was large enough, but Kei could go for some thicker walls.

Now though, hardly anyone spoke. All thirteen members—Kageyama and Daichi were still out trying to find Hinata—resided in the living room, either curled into a cushion or swaying on their feet next to the door or sitting cross-legged and nervous on the floor. Kei was standing despite Yamaguchi fussing that he needed to “rest some more.” Eventually, Yamaguchi gave up trying to mother him, and came to lean against the wall too.

The clock’s ticking seemed louder than usual. Kei could still feel himself pulled in different directions—one following the monsters that attacked them, and one following Hinata. They’d parted, and now the remnants of his energy weren’t sure which one to follow. That was why he hated focusing on one person or event: he got stuck there. Kei wasn’t particularly interested in looking to the future, but he wasn’t fond of staying in the past, either.

Not everyone at Karasuno could say that though. He thought about this, feeling the weight of Hinata’s movement.

He leaned towards Yamaguchi. “They’re on their way back.”

The witch’s eyes widened just a little, like he was surprised to hear that they were safe. “They are? When do you think they’ll…?” He was whispering, and his voice got quieter as he spoke until the question trailed off. Kei could feel the other’s listening to them, could feel curious eyes on the back of his neck.

Kei shrugged in answer. His power didn’t deal with specifics.

Yamaguchi knew this, and despite the flicker of disappointment, he didn’t seem surprised. He only nodded and went back to silence. Kei pretended not to be watching him from the corner of his eye, but he followed the movement of Yamaguchi’s pendant, the dark hand that reached up to clutch it, rolling the stone between nervous fingers. Yamaguchi had always been a self-conscious monster, always afraid of what others thought, always worried they were looking down on him. It wasn’t that Kei disliked this part of him—he was merely indifferent to it. Kei didn’t think he was capable of _disliking_ any part of Yamaguchi.

Regardless, the witch was self-conscious, and on top of that he was prone to anxiety. While the self-consciousness had been learned over time, something picked up from the way others treated him—the anxiety had been a born trait. Yamaguchi was an anxious person. He fiddled with his necklace when he was nervous and bit the tip of his thumb and brushed stray pieces of dark hair behind his ear and worried. Although Kei wanted Yamaguchi to be happy, and he didn’t _want_ his best friend to be anxious and so damn scared all the time, this was another thing that Kei didn’t dislike; like he said, Yamaguchi, despite all his fear of others’ opinions, was not capable of being disliked.

Some people were naturally beautiful, either in the way they spoke or their looks or simply the way they _were_. Their _being_ was beautiful. Kei had found that this was often called an aura—not detectable by everyone but always there. He didn’t call it that himself, because it seemed like a pointless name and _being_ was more accurate; auras implied something he could see, and he could not see a person’s being. He didn’t know how he knew it, how he felt it, but he did, some more vividly than others.

Yamaguchi’s was vivid and beautiful and easy to love.

Next to him, the witch was still rolling the crystal between his fingers, probably not even aware he was doing it. The clock struck seven. Kei shifted his weight to the other foot, subtly leaning into Yamaguchi.

“You’ll wear holes into it,” he said, quiet enough that it was only for them. If the others could hear their conversation, they didn’t show interest.

“What?” Yamaguchi blinked, donning that confused expression that always made Kei want to laugh, and looked at the hand fiddling with his necklace. “Oh. Right.” He dropped his arm to his side, the pendant bouncing lightly against his chest.

Kei pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, brushing his other hand against Yamaguchi’s as subtly as he could. The backs of their hands touched, very lightly, and the witch visibly relaxed. Kei felt the tug of Hinata just as Yamaguchi slid their palms together. From the living room, they heard the door swing open, and Sugawara all but sprinted to greet them.

“They’re back!” Yamaguchi sounded genuinely happy about that. It wasn’t that Kei wasn’t happy they were safe—just that he’d known all along, and the shock wasn’t something he experienced. Still, for his friend’s sake, he tried to look less like his brain was trying to burst out of his head.

The four returned, Hinata immediately bombarded by at least six different people trying to hug him, Suga, Daichi, and Kageyama ready for a funeral. Kageyama kept glancing around the room like he was trying to find something, but his eyes always landed back on Hinata, who was still in the process of greeting Yachi. To Kei’s annoyance, Yamaguchi pulled him along to the front of the room, dragging him by their linked hands. No one pointed it out, but Kei could feel his brother giving him a knowing look from behind him.

Daichi looked like he was going to be sick. Suga was faring better, if only slightly. To the others, this must have seemed odd: why did they look so scared if Hinata was safe? But Kei only tightened his grip on Yamaguchi’s hand and waited for the bomb to drop.

Suga cleared his throat. “Everyone,” he said, “we…have something to tell you.”

If not for the expression on his face, he might have been announcing his and Daichi’s engagement from the way they were standing so close to each other, stealing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Tanaka might have made a joke about it some other time—“When’s the wedding?”—but it was clear from Daichi’s posture that they weren’t messing around. No one said anything.

Yamaguchi paused in the middle of hugging Hinata, everyone else stilled. Slowly, those who had been standing found places to sit, and Suga and Daichi walked further into the room. Yachi and Shimizu made room for them on the couch. From an armchair, Asahi’s face was pale.

Suga hesitated, then began to speak.

 

\--

 

Koushi was six years old the first time he took a life.

His father had found a stray dog on his way home that morning and taken it back to Koushi as a present. In the kitchen of Koushi’s childhood home, he sat on the floor, playing with building blocks. It was 1957, and he was not yet used to the cruelty of his family, the cruelty of himself.

“Koushi,” his father said, “I have something for you.”

The little boy looked up from what he was playing, and his father took the puppy out from where he’d been hidden inside his coat. It was an incredibly small thing, small enough to fit into the palm of his father’s hand. Koushi remembered this moment, his dad standing over him like a giant, the dog cupped gentle between strong hands, gentler than Koushi had been aware they were capable of being.

“That’s for me?” he asked, standing up, blocks forgotten. His father nodded, smiling a sharp-toothed grin. Koushi’s fangs wouldn’t come in for another ten years, and he wouldn’t be able to drink blood until he was eight years old, at the very least. When he was little, he envied his father’s teeth, those glinting, impressive things like jewels growing from pink gums. He would always watch his parents feeding with fascination—wondering when he would get to become like them.

He reached for the puppy to take it from his father, but the man only pulled it out of Koushi’s reach. “Yes, Koushi, it’s for you,” he said, and he was still smiling, “but not to play with. It’s to help you train.”

Koushi had been “training,” as his father called it, for as long as he could remember. He knew the drill. He nodded.

That night, his mother disappeared early to bed, leaving them alone in the basement of their home—more like a mansion. There, the puppy squirmed in his father’s grip, wanting down.

“Koushi,” his father said, and he threw the dog to the ground. “Kill it.”

The dog yelped upon hitting the floor. It wasn’t yet old enough to find its balance on its own, and Koushi’s eyes began to water. “I don’t want to,” he told his dad, and it was like a switch had been flipped. He had seen this before but managed to avoid it most of the time with the pleading of his mother; but now, with her asleep, there was no one to defend him, and his cheek stung with the force of his father’s slap.

He stood there shocked for a few moments. But his father grew impatient.

“Kill it,” he ordered again. “Koushi. Do it.”

The dog had stumbled to its feet and tried to make itself scarce, retreating to a corner of the nearly empty room to get as far from them as possible. Koushi watched it hobble away and trip over its own paws. “But…”

“Koushi.” And this was not a warning.

There was no choice left. He obeyed.

Afterwards, his father helped him bury the thing in their front yard, right next to the bed of dying lilies his mother was so fond of but never had the time to care to. Weeds were growing in the flowerbeds, swallowing the lilies until their little ghostly petals could hardly be seen. Koushi didn’t say anything as they buried it. He couldn’t remember how he’d done it—but somehow he’d taken this animal’s life, squeezed it from its neck.

When they were done, he began to cry. His father stepped over the puppy’s grave and pulled Koushi into a hug. “You did very well,” he said. “You did a great job. I’m so proud of you, Koushi, you did so well.”

Koushi didn’t feel like he’d done well. He had not yet learned these two sides of his father and could not yet understand them, so he cried into the man’s shoulder until he was coaxed inside.

 

\--

 

Koushi’s father was an enigma, a paradox that he hadn’t figured out how to handle yet.

Some mornings, he’d wake and his father would be at his bedside, shaking him into consciousness with a small smile framed in teeth and a quiet, “Wake up, little birdy.” (That was something both his parents called him, “little birdy.” _Get up, little birdy, it’s time for school. Go home, little birdy, we’ll be right behind you. Go to sleep, little birdy, it’s past your bedtime. Don’t move, little birdy, you’ll scare them away; get out, little birdy, you’re not wanted here; stop crying, little birdy, you look pathetic._ ) He’d stumble into the kitchen blearily and his mother would be there already, a coffee in front of her as she read a folded newspaper. Breakfast would be on the table. They would eat as a family—a creature of three, six-legged and breathing.

Others were not the same. His parents worked odd hours; Koushi’s father came home late and woke up early, but he was never tired. At midnight, the front door would click open and the man would glide in, looking as lively as he had when he’d left that morning. Sometimes he returned with a stained coat, rusty.

“I had a snack on the way home,” he’d tell his son when asked about the coat, but Koushi couldn’t remember a time when his father had ever been messy in his feeding. His father was not messy; he was meticulous, and he was cavalier, and he was somehow both everything and nothing.

Those nights, nights where he came home covered in stains, were always precedents of Koushi’s training intensifying. A few hours after falling asleep, he would be unceremoniously shaken awake, the sky an inky black outside his window. “Get up,” his father would grunt, and Koushi would scramble to obey. His mother was never here to protect him during these training sessions, these midnight escapades. Koushi came to hate the witching hour.

And he came to hate his father too. Koushi hated him—hated him for the back and forth with which he treated Koushi, the whiplash from _I’m so proud of you_ to _I don’t want to see your fucking face again_ , _you hear me_?, _I have a present for you_ to _kill it_. Koushi was stuck in an agonizing sort of equilibrium: he hid when his father came home but ran into his arms when in tears; he feared the man returning every night but couldn’t sleep until he heard the door creaking open. His father was both feared and loved by everyone—Koushi included.

The years passed. Koushi wasn’t stupid; before his fangs had even grown in, he knew what his father did, what his mother did, what he was to do. He had learned early on that if he wanted to survive in this limbo, he had to be observant. He watched and made weighted judgments every day of his life—what mood is Dad in today? What will he say this time if I say this? What will he make me do? Will my mother save me if he reacts?—and because of this, little got past him.

_Corvum Nigrum_ —or Corvum, for shortness sake. His father spoke on the phone to his coworkers, because the goal was never to hide. “What do you mean something’s come up with Corvum?” or “You asshats can’t handle yourselves for _ten minutes_ without blowing shit up?” or “Over my dead body, they’re taking our terf.” His father was both feared and loved by everyone—his subordinates included.

The summer of 1972 when Koushi turned ten, his father stumbled in the doorway nearing two in the morning. It was raining outside, but even through his soaked clothing, his stains were visible, a dark, seething color. Koushi wasn’t downstairs waiting for the man’s return—he had long since stopped doing that, the nightly patience dissipating as his hatred grew—but his father was clanking up the stairway so loudly that it woke him up anyway.

There was a knock on his door. “Kou,” his father said, and knocked harder. “Open the damn door, Kou—“

Koushi only cracked it at first, hesitant to see what this would bring him, but it was shoved open by strong hands.

“Kou.” The nickname was slurred, and it occurred to Koushi with a blinding panic that his father was drunk. “Training time.”

The rain was still pounding outside. Across the hallway, his mother was sleeping soundly, unaware of her husband’s activities. Koushi could deal with his parents’ professions—death was something he could handle as it was, his training had made sure of that, and besides, he was never there when it happened, only saw the leftovers in his father’s teeth and the red dripping down his shoes and the report of another gang-related murder on the radio—but this was another thing entirely. Koushi was scared of his dad sober. He could only imagine what he was like drunk.

“Dad,” he managed to say with some difficulty. “It’s two A.M.”

“So?” The vampire frowned and shoved a foot into the door, pushing himself into his son’s room further. He was still soaking wet, dripping water onto the carpet. “You need to train. Didn’t I tell you that you need to train?”

“You did,” Koushi swallowed, “but can’t we do it in the morning? Shouldn’t you—um, get some rest fir—“

“I don’t need any fuckin’ rest.” His father never raised his voice. He only spoke in such a way that would trick you into thinking he had. Koushi flinched at the tone and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

“What’s the matter, little birdy?” The pet name had so many connotations now that Koushi was afraid of what to make of it; it was his father’s paradox shoved into two neat words. The man in question leered from the threshold of the other’s room. “Didn’t I say you need ta’ train?”

“Of course, but—“

“No fuckin’ ‘but’s.” He took an uncharacteristically clumsy step back, fully expecting his son to follow. “You’ll be takin’ my place soon as head of Corvum, understand?”

Koushi pressed his lips together. Nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Then start actin’ like it.”

That night was one of the worst that Koushi had in a long time.

 

\--

                                     

His father died in 1992.

Rather, he was murdered, and Koushi was left in charge of Corvum, the way that he’d always been warned he would be. It wasn’t that he hadn’t known this was ultimately his fate—it was that he hadn’t expected it to come so quickly. He was fourteen, barely sixty-eight chronological years. He had planned for eighteen at the soonest, had viewed his future as something too far away to worry about. Every part of him revolved around this fate, every training, every life taken in practice. He didn’t have friends. He’d never even gone to school in his father’s fear that it would “mess” with his psyche, that it would turn him soft, that he would start dreaming for something bigger. Everything he’d ever done had been in preparation for this.

Koushi should have been ready. And he was, in some ways; he was a good leader, as good as he could be. He took the offensive. He kept everyone in line. He hid any semblance of kindness the way his family had taught him—“Kindness is weakness,” was something that had been drilled into his head for many years. “Kindness to strangers is the worst form of idiocy. Kindness to those below you, even more.” This had been a vehement lesson his father taught, another puzzle piece of his that never quite fit in. How could Koushi’s father preach that kindness was foolish and then turn around and tell Koushi how much he loved him? Drown a man in the same day that he danced in the kitchen with his wife? Force Koushi to take a life in the same breath that he rewarded him?

Koushi had accepted that he would become his father at least in profession. But he refused to become his father’s paradox; he would be one thing or nothing at all. He wouldn’t have children, and if he did, he wouldn’t force them to earn his love. If he could help it, he wouldn’t love at all.

His third year leading Corvum was a rough one.

This was for no discernible reason, other than that Koushi was tired, tired, tired. He had never wanted to do this, but as his time as head passed, the weight of his future started to sink in.

The first year he’d taken over hadn’t allowed him the time to think about this—he’d been so busy with his mother’s grief (and even to some degree his own; as much as he had hated his father, he’d loved him too) and Corvum adjusting to the sudden change that he wasn’t given down time, for better or for worse. He was sloppy at first, not purposefully but for lack of experience, and it drew unwanted attention. The second year wasn’t as hard on him as he became used to his position. Koushi grew into the role, demanding respect the way he’d watched his father.

His mother clung to him. She was still feeling the weight of a permanent loss, and she must have recognized some part of her husband in Koushi. They had been close when Koushi was younger and grew apart as his hatred festered. But with his anger pushing into a dull, emotionless throb in the back of his mind, they reached for each other again, like flowers to light. This was perhaps the only good thing to come out of his father’s death.

By 1994, however, Koushi was done growing into his role, done clinging, done grieving. He was nothing but tired, tired, tired.

Corvum was tiresome, killing was tiresome, even feeding became tiresome, something he had previously enjoyed. His subordinates noticed the way he rejected their offers of blood, the way he turned pale at the sight of a bleeding body and yet still turned away; it was his privilege—or rather, his _right_ —as head to feed the most often, to take what he wanted, to play with his food. He didn’t, and they stared. No one asked why, but he could feel their questions in the heavy, dying silence.

There was only one person to voice these.

“How have you been feeling, Sugawara-san?”

Azumane Asahi was a tall, well-built, and incompetent vampire. He didn’t seem to get the same pleasure from illegal feeding the way the others did, always hesitant before pressing teeth into a freshly rotting wrist. There was a guilty way that he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand afterwards, a sort of quiet sadness in his red eyes. But the Azumanes were good friends with the Sugawaras, so he was a part of Corvum Nigrum despite his questionable loyalty. He and Koushi had grown up together, not necessarily friends but it was the closest relationship either of them had ever had.

Because of this, he was the only one brave enough to speak to Koushi in such a concerning way. _How have you been feeling, Sugawara-san_? It was vague enough to mean anything and kind enough to mean everything.

“I’m alright.” Koushi was as stiffly polite as he could be. He had so far followed his self-made rule of Do Not Love very well, and Asahi put him at a risk of ruining that. Because of this, he held the other vampire at a purposeful distance. “Yourself?”

“Fine.” Asahi’s eyes flickered to the door like he was worried someone would barge in on them and accuse him of inappropriate conduct. In reality, there were no official rules against conversing or even making friends with the boss. That one was another self-made rule, and like Do Not Love, it was followed religiously. Anyone who broke it was looked down on. At fourteen, Asahi was timid as it was; he didn’t need to be singled out.

It seemed this conversation was going nowhere. Koushi slung his bag over his shoulder and started towards the door. “That’s good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Asahi-san—“

“Wait!”

Koushi was so surprised by the outburst that he actually did. He forced a deliberately fake smile and turned around. “Did you need something?”

“No—I mean, yes?” Asahi rubbed the back of his neck. Later, he would grow his hair out in unintentional rebellion, but for now it barely brushed the nape of his neck. “I was…I wanted to talk to you. For a moment.”

Koushi restrained from groaning. He wanted to go home. “Sure. What did you want to talk about?”

“You haven’t been feeding much lately.”

_Shit_. Koushi was aware that the others had caught on, but he’d hoped, maybe naively, that no one would care enough to mention it. At the very worst, he was expecting it to be brought up against him, possibly as a last ditch effort to wound his pride, a comment like _what kind of vampire is scared to feed?_ He hadn’t planned on genuine concern.

Koushi forced a laugh. “Asahi-san, just because I don’t feed in front of everyone doesn’t mean I don’t at all.”

This threw the other off for a moment the way it was meant to. If Koushi were lucky, Asahi would start to question if he even needed to worry to begin with.

Koushi wasn’t lucky. “Sugawara-san—sir—I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but everyone has noticed how you’ve been affected by this lately, not…not just me. You need to eat.”

“And you need to drop it.” Koushi had adopted the same tone with which he spoke to someone he knew wouldn’t live to repeat it. It was his trump card: the voice he’d inherited from his father. “I’m fine. And even if I weren’t, if it isn’t affecting the rest of Corvum, it is none of your concern. Good night.”

“But it _is_ affecting Corvum.” Asahi added, “Sir.”

Koushi was trying to push this conversation to a close, but… “How?”

“You’re not in good shape.”

“I am in perfectly—“

“Your hands are shaking.”

It shut Koushi up. He refused to look at his hands—if only because he knew the accusation was true.

Asahi continued, less timid now that he was getting somewhere with the other. “You’re paler than usual, you’re slower in your fighting, and it’s…lowering the others’ motivation. They don’t say anything about it, but what do you think they think when they see their boss refusing to feed?”

Koushi _was_ shaking, but from anger. “I think it’s none of their fucking business.”

“Sugawara-san—“

“Good night, Azumane.”

He slammed the door on his way out.

 

\--

 

But Asahi had been right. Koushi started noticing the way the others regarded him, the reluctance with which they followed his orders, the slow way he began to lose their respect. No one said anything to his face, but Koushi heard their whispering. _Why should_ he _get to lead just because his dad was boss? He’s barely in his seventies, he’s not qualified. He’s going to fuck us over. We’ve already lost so much of the city because of him. And have you noticed that he never feeds? Fuckin’ weirdo. Who decided to let a_ kid _run Corvum anyway?_

He didn’t want to lose control, but if he did…would he have to lead anymore? Would he be stuck like this anymore? The line of Sugawaras in power with Corvum would end with him, but Koushi could find no despair in thinking this.

Asahi wormed his way closer to Koushi. Slowly, Koushi began feeding again, if only because he couldn’t stand the hunger anymore. Vampires could eat food and be satisfied to some degree, but they could only go so long without feeding sufficiently before they starved to death. Koushi’s goal hadn’t been to starve himself, but it had been the end result anyway. So he fed again.

Do Not Love was still in place, but Koushi’s reluctance to follow it began bubbling. He wouldn’t have said he _loved_ Asahi—but he was…a friend. They cared about each other. They looked out for each other. They enjoyed each other’s company. Koushi had never had a friend, but he thought if he did, Asahi would be one.

Winter of 1994 broke the rule completely.

Sawamura Daichi was desperate and confusing. He came to Koushi with only minimal knowledge of who he was, begging to be a part of Corvum. He wanted—needed, he said—protection, but from what, he didn’t tell Koushi. Daichi was inexperienced, frantic, and freshly turned; all things that Koushi’s father had taught him made for a pathetic, unworthy vampire. Turned vampires were only as good as they made themselves, his father said, and newly turned could only bring you ruin. “Never accept them into Corvum. It’s the worst possible folly you could make as leader. If you value your pride even a little, turn them down. You’ll kill them if you’re smart.”

Koushi accepted him into Corvum.

This caused the second wave of distrust in Koushi’s leadership to wash through his subordinates. Everyone in Corvum so far had pure vampiric blood; not a single drop of human in their lineage, not a family member they couldn’t trace themselves back to. Even if they weren’t rich, even if they grew up on the streets, they at the very least had their pride. They were less than happy with Koushi’s decision. While they never would have argued with Koushi’s father’s choices, they were more than happy to voice this anger to Koushi.

Koushi ignored it. He was already losing their respect and trust as leader; he would just have to keep them in line as best as he could for the time being, until he figured out how to get everything under control again. In the meantime, he had a clumsy, inexperienced, emotionally comprised Sawamura Daichi to deal with.

Daichi was, however new, motivated. This was just one part of him that Koushi found confusing. What drove him? Why did he care so much? What was so frightening that he would join Corvum just to escape it? Koushi didn’t think there was anything in the world horrible enough to make him willingly stay here. Why would anyone _want_ to live like this?

Regardless, Daichi was determined not to hold everyone else back, to be accepted into this makeshift community however he could. Koushi knew that the vampire heard everyone else talking about him—he _had_ to hear, how could he not?—but he didn’t seem discouraged by it. That, Koushi would figure out later, was part of why he decided to take on the task of helping Daichi.

This didn’t immediately break the Do Not Love rule. At first it was the product of Koushi’s frustration; even if Daichi didn’t want to hold them back, didn’t want to be a burden, it was clear he’d never fought once in his life. Koushi thought with some bitterness that Daichi had probably lived a privileged life: human and normal, a future for his own choosing ahead of him. Daichi’s inexperience was maddening and angering. Koushi resented Daichi for the presumed way he’d been allowed to live.

Daichi knew this.

“Why do you hate me?”

It was a blunt question, infuriatingly so. If Daichi’s goal had been to get Koushi to hate him _less_ , it wasn’t working so far.

Still, Koushi was polite if not distant. “I don’t.”

Corvum Nigrum’s base was a large, previously abandoned building that they had claimed over thirty years ago. It used to be a hotel, and so had more than enough rooms for their purposes. Koushi’s father had turned what would have been the ballroom into a sort of arena, a training ground for practice fights. Every Saturday, some of the guys from Corvum got together to fight for the hell of it, placing bets on who would win. Koushi had tried to put a stop to it when he’d taken over, if only because they got bloody fast, but with his slipping grip on Corvum, their weekly fights had hardly been his biggest concern. Now, however, it was used for sparring practice. They met here nearly every night until it was past the witching hours and Daichi could hardly stand. Koushi was a tough teacher.

It was nearing eleven p.m., but they’d barely gotten started. Daichi was stretching; some nights, Koushi didn’t allow him this with the excuse that other people wouldn’t give you the courtesy to stretch. “Oh, sure,” Daichi said from where his nose was pressed to his knee. “You’re a horrible liar.”

Koushi narrowed his eyes at the other. “Be careful speaking like that to me, Sawamura-san. I’m still your boss.”

“And you hate me.”

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t devote four hours of my time to helping you. I would let you flounder on your own, until you got your ass kicked and left Corvum with your tail between your legs.”

Daichi switched to the other leg. “Would you really do that?”

“Of course.”

They stayed silent while Daichi finished stretching. He pulled himself off the ground smoothly. Daichi wasn’t anywhere near being a good fighter yet, but he somehow did everything with an air of smooth confidence. Koushi couldn’t figure out if this was intentional or not.

“So,” Daichi said, rubbing his right wrist, “if you hated me, you would let me get my ass kicked?”

Koushi nodded. “Yes.”

“I’d say I’ve already gotten my ass kicked, though.” He looked around the room like he was considering it for the first time. It was their third week down here, and the first time they’d spoken outside of Koushi giving him instructions. “Plenty of times, actually.”

“By who?” Koushi asked this while grabbing his water bottle—filled with blood. Legally acquired, despite what his position at Corvum would lead one to believe.

“You.”

Koushi stiffened at the word. He took a long gulp from his bottle to distract from this.

“This will be the twentieth time, I think,” Daichi said. Koushi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, knowing his teeth were probably stained now. He screwed the bottle’s cap back on with more force than necessary.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been keeping count.” It was supposed to sound joking, but it only came out accusatory and a little uncomfortable. Koushi just wanted the conversation to be over.

“Not really. I mean, it wasn’t hard to count. I haven’t gotten a single win.”

“And you never will if we don’t actually get to work.”

The truth of this derailed the conversation. Once they actually got to business, Koushi felt himself loosen, his muscles relax and his anxiety dissipate; he was always in his element when he fought, for better or for worse. He goaded Daichi into being the first one to move, shouting orders as they sparred—“You’re never going to get me like that!” or “You’re wide open—I could kill you right now if I wanted to!” Daichi took these pieces of advice to heart, and while he was a fast learner, he was still years behind Koushi in experience. Koushi won easily.

“If you hadn’t been so focused on how many times you’ve lost, you might’ve actually won for once.” Koushi held a hand out to the other and hauled him to his feet. He shoved what was left of his bottle into Daichi’s hands. “Drink this.”

A switch was flipped. Koushi watched Daichi’s expression close, a wall that had never been there go up between them. He shook his head and pushed the drink towards Koushi politely. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

Koushi was upset. He had no real right to be—after all, he’d resigned himself to hating Daichi, and it wasn’t like he was really worthy of knowing every little thing about him anyway. But for whatever reason, Koushi felt a pang of disappointment at the treatment.

Irritated, he frowned. “You need to feed after sparring. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll never get better.”

“I’m fine.” Daichi still had that frustratingly neutral expression in place. “It’s yours anyway.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Neither do I.”

“You do if you want to get better.”

Daichi opened his mouth, then shut it harshly. In their exchange, they’d gotten closer, and now the bottle was pressed into Daichi’s chest, Koushi’s hands still around it. They looked at each other for a long moment. Koushi was acutely aware of the height Daichi had over him.

“Sugawara-san.” Daichi’s fingers touched Koushi’s, and Koushi jumped. Gently, Daichi took the half-empty bottle. That wall was still there, but he offered a closed-lip smile, and it might have been genuine. “Thank you.”

It took a second, but Koushi blinked himself out of…whatever that was. He realized their proximity and scrambled to put distance between them as quickly as he could without seeming obvious. “You’re, um. Welcome.”

They sparred three more times that night before both of them were too tired to continue. As expected, Koushi won all of them.

Outside, it was pitch black, nearing one thirty. When they parted ways, it was usually at the front of the hotel, unless Koushi chose to leave early. For whatever reason, he didn’t this time, and they walked through the empty building together.

“You never answered the question,” Daichi said, interrupting the tense quiet that had fallen over them. Koushi feigned innocence.

“What question?”

“Why you hate me.” Koushi started to answer, and Daichi amended, “Don’t say you don’t. I know you do, I just want to know why.”

There was no reason for it, but Koushi felt his face burn with shame. “I…don’t _hate_ you…”

“You don’t like me.”

“I don’t like anyone,” Koushi responded quickly, and then felt stupid for trying to justify it. “I’m not a people person.”

Daichi frowned and regarded the other vampire like he couldn’t quite believe that. “You seem to like Asahi.”

“That’s—different.”

“What, because he was born?”

Koushi bristled. “That has nothing to do with it!”

“It doesn’t?”

“Of course it doesn’t. I’m not…” He trailed off, and then took a deep breath and tried again. “Everyone else in Corvum is born too. There are plenty I don’t like.”

Daichi nodded, but less like he believed Koushi and more like he was trying to appease him. Koushi defended himself again, “It’s not because he was born.”

“Right.”

“Sawamura.” He stopped. The other stopped with him. “It’s not because you were turned.”

If that had any effect on Daichi, Koushi couldn’t tell. The wall was still up, but Daichi held eye contact for a few moments longer before nodding. “Of course. It’s because I’m inexperienced.”

“I don’t hate you!”

“I don’t mean to speak out of line, Sugawara-san,” Daichi said, the way he always did before he was going to do just that, “but I really don’t believe that.”

Koushi was, for lack of better words, floundering. He tried to grasp at the right response, something to end this conversation so he could go home and avoid thinking about Daichi anymore than he already had, but all that came out was, “Why do you even want to prove that I hate you so badly? What do you get out of forcing me to admit something? What does me saying that I hate you even _change_?”

Daichi paused. “It doesn’t change anything. I just…want to know.”

Koushi wasn’t floundering anymore; now he was just pissed off. They were still standing in the middle of what used to be the hotel lobby, and Koushi couldn’t keep himself from speaking up this time. He’d done his best to be removed from all his subordinates so far—Asahi not included—but he’d been full of nothing but resentment ever since Daichi joined, and now it bubbled over.

“Not to speak out of _line_ , Sawamura-san,” he bit, and he could already see Daichi’s shock, “but I am your _boss_ and if I were a little less forgiving, you wouldn’t be able to speak right now. I could have—and probably should have, considering what every other damn person in Corvum has advised me to do and the way you’ve been acting recently—turned you down when you asked to join, but I didn’t, and as if that isn’t enough, I took it upon myself for some stupid fucking reason to train you—and still, you haven’t showed me an ounce of respect! At all!”

“Sugawara-san—“

Koushi very purposefully spoke over him. He’d begun yelling earlier, but now he brought his voice down to an eerie calm.

“This line of conversation is inappropriate at best,” he said slowly, “and you’re lucky I’ve entertained this topic as it is. But you’re pushing too far, and frankly, it’d be in _your_ best interest to go home and forget we even spoke in the first place.”

That was the most Koushi had spoken to anyone but Asahi and his mother in three years. He didn’t let himself dwell on the meaning of this, but turned around and strode out of the hotel. Daichi didn’t say anything, but Koushi could feel eyes on his back as he left.

He didn’t sleep well that night.

 

\--

 

Daichi didn’t say anything about it the next day, and even though Koushi was sure he would try to confront him about it eventually, he never did. He seemed to understand that there were a few lines he didn’t cross. This was one of them.

The days passed. Koushi watched Daichi grow into his fighting style as winter turned to spring. He still hadn’t beaten Koushi yet, but with every practice, he came closer and closer to, at the very least, matching the other.

Koushi’s original reason for allowing Daichi into Corvum was that he saw the vampire’s potential; this gamble paid off. Their sparring sessions grew more intense, more concentrated—and for Koushi, more stimulating. While he’d won with ease before, barely needing to pay attention, now Daichi was forcing him to focus or risk being taken off guard. It had been a while since anyone at Corvum was willing to give Koushi a real fight. He found himself having fun.

Asahi noticed.

“Sawamura seems to be getting better,” the vampire commented off-handedly one afternoon, in one of the abandoned conference rooms. Corvum had unofficial meetings almost every day, and Koushi usually took the downtime afterwards as everyone was leaving to speak to Asahi.

“He is,” Koushi said, and couldn’t help a little bit of pride slipping into his voice. Daichi’s progress was partly because of his talent and motivation, but partly because of Koushi.

“Has he beaten you yet?”

“No, not yet. It’ll be awhile before he’s _that_ good.”

Asahi just looked at him, smiling gently. They were the last ones out, and Koushi locked the door behind them. “What? What are you smiling for?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Asahi scratched his cheek. “I’m glad you’re doing better.”

“…’Doing better’? What do you mean?”

“You know, you’re…you’ve been in a better mood lately, and you’ve started smiling more.”

Koushi frowned. “I have not.”

“Ah, sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything about it,” Asahi apologized. “Just forget I brought it up. How’s your mom been?”

The conversation never returned to its original topic, but Koushi kept it in the back of his mind for the rest of the day. If he had been in a better mood than usual, _he_ sure hadn’t noticed. It felt impossible for this change to have occurred without him noticing; Koushi was nothing if not observant. For him to let something like that slip past him contradicted everything he knew about himself.

Spring then summer. His grip on Corvum tightened again. The others had noticed Daichi’s progress as well, and some of Koushi’s credibility returned with it. The first time Daichi was allowed to tag along with them, Koushi had to restrain from laughing at everyone’s shock. Uncharacteristically, he wanted to gloat— _Look, I made the right decision_! he wanted to say. _You were wrong to doubt my judgment; you should have trusted me the way you trusted my father_.

That last thought was an unprecedented one, odd. Koushi didn’t think about his dad much these days, everything too busy to leave room for reminiscing. And even odder was him comparing himself to his father. He had never _wanted_ to be like his dad, and he still didn’t. But he resented, to some degree, the way that the others treated him in comparison to their old boss. What was Koushi doing wrong that they doubted his judgment? What was Koushi doing wrong that they respected him less, spoke badly about him behind his back without fear of repercussion? No one in Corvum had ever treated his father as an equal, had never treated him as someone they could speak to about anything that wasn’t business—and yet Daichi had talked back, demanded why Koushi hated him, even accused it of being rooted in prejudice. He wasn’t scared of Koushi. No one was scared of Koushi.

Did he _want_ them to be scared of him? He’d never liked the idea of being feared, but now that he wasn’t, it felt…wrong. Like he was failing as leader. But why did he care so much if he didn’t want to lead?

Why did he _care_ so much?

There wasn’t a date, but it was summertime when he broke his Do Not Love rule. He’d been edging closer and closer to breaking it since Asahi had reached out to him, but he wasn’t pushed over its edge until July of 1995.

They lost more ground than they could afford. Ever since Koushi had taken over, they’d been pushed further and further back within city limits, losing land and then grappling for it back. Lamia Turbae had been Corvum’s main concern for as long as Koushi could remember; they’d never been particularly offensive, but they took advantage of Koushi’s inexperience.

There were six casualties. Two Turbae. Four Corvum.

The aftermath was the worst part of it. Koushi was used to seeing people die, was used to being the one killing them—but he wasn’t used to watching his subordinates die, wasn’t used to the grief of the survivors. Wasn’t used to his _own_ grief.

It was inappropriate—at the very least, bad timing. But Koushi was tired, tired, tired. He had never grown up with steady comfort, especially not surrounding death, but even if it was never steady, at least it was there at all. His father may have forced him to earn his love, and his mother may have given up on protecting him, but it was more than he had now.

They returned to Corvum’s base with their tails between their legs: pride destroyed, territory taken, grieving. Koushi was going on his fourth year leading them, and this was the first time he’d seen any of Corvum look so defeated. They had lost members before, sure—but those were always quiet tragedies. If they had affected the others, Koushi had forced himself not to notice. They returned four less.

No one spoke. Koushi wasn’t crying—he wasn’t sure he remembered how to do that anymore—but some were. Normally, this is when they would’ve had a meeting, would’ve planned their next move, weighed the pros and cons of each way they could retaliate, if they should even bother retaliating to begin with. But now, they sat in the conference room, surrounded by rotting wood, and said nothing.

One by one, everyone left. It was nearing four in the morning and the sun would be up soon; it was a surprise that they’d managed to stay awake for even that long. Koushi sat at the head of the old table, watching each of them push from their chairs, some with feigned strength and some just barely. Asahi didn’t hug him on his way out, but he gave Koushi a look that made it seem like he wanted to.

“I’ll…see you tomorrow,” he just barely spoke above a whisper. When he was gone, Koushi was alone—except for Daichi.

Daichi wasn’t in better shape than anyone else. There was a deep cut running down his right cheek, the bleeding having stopped but the stain still there. He looked tired, as tired as Koushi felt, and came to sit in the chair closest to Koushi.

Unsteadily, he took a breath. “Sugawara-san,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Koushi assured, even though the question hadn’t been asked, even though he wasn’t. “I’m fine,” he said again, and once he’d started speaking, he couldn’t stop; Daichi was the only person he’d ever done this around. “I’m used to this, I grew up around this, you know, people dying and—people being murdered, rather, and—so I’m…I’m okay, I’m used to this kind of thing, so stop looking at me like that, I need to be focused on…”

“You don’t need to be focused on everyone else.”

Koushi couldn’t breathe.

“Sugawara-san.” Daichi’s hand slid across the table, hesitating before settling gently on Koushi’s, soft enough that Koushi could ignore it if he wanted to. “It’s okay to think about yourself every once in a while.”

That shouldn’t have affected him any, didn’t make sense to affect him at all—but Koushi’s chest caved in like they’d been waiting for Daichi before collapsing.

Koushi remembered how to cry.

 

\--

 

That was the beginning of a series of things. The most notable one was Koushi’s Do Not Love rule being broken—and being broken over and over. He’d hoped the feeling was fleeting, just a product of the moment, an ephemeral emotion that he could enjoy for the night and never touch again. But it wasn’t, and one day became every other day became every moment until he was so head over heels in love that he didn’t know what to do about it.

Daichi talked more. Now that they were—whatever this was—he brought the wall down, if only a little. Koushi got glimpses into his life from before, snapshots of his childhood and his years before he was turned, stories from high school before he’d been forced to drop out.

“My parents were…pretty bad,” he confided one evening, in the decaying remains of one of the hotel rooms. It wasn’t the prettiest place to meet, but it was what they’d unofficially decided was theirs. They did little else but kiss and speak, not always in that order.

Now, they were on the floor, pressed side by side in front of the room’s closed door. Koushi knocked his knee into the other’s softly. “Tell me about it.” To anyone else, it might have sounded condescending, but he only meant it genuinely: he wanted Daichi to tell him about it.

When asked directly, Daichi was horrible at saying no. “They were…well, they were traffickers.”

Koushi tried not to show that he was surprised. “You mean, like—monster trafficking?”

Daichi nodded. He was examining the patterned carpet with intense focus. “Yeah.”

“Sounds like they _were_ pretty bad,” Koushi mumbled in agreement. He wasn’t sure what else there was to say.

“They ran a circus.”

Koushi tried to follow the train of thought, but couldn’t. “…What?”

“My parents.” Daichi still wasn’t look at him. “They ran a ‘circus.’ At least, they advertised it as that, but it was…showcasing monsters. Selling them. You know, forcing them to perform before carting them off to whoever had the most money…”

“That’s…” _Horrible_ , but Koushi didn’t bother finishing the thought. It was inadequate at best, insulting at worst. There would never been a strong enough word to describe something like that. He felt a pang of guilt for having been so resentful towards Daichi when they’d first met; he’d assumed Daichi’s life had been sunshine and rainbows just because he wasn’t born a vampire. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

To Daichi, it looked like the apology was for his upbringing. “It could have been worse. And it was…some of it was my fault, I think. I never said anything about it, even though I didn’t think it was right. I just…watched them.”

“You were a child. You couldn’t have done anything.”

“They loved me a lot,” he said quietly. “Even if they were horrible, horrible people, they loved me a lot. I think maybe if I’d said something about it they might have reconsidered. It would’ve taken more than once, but if I’d tried…”

Koushi pressed his lips together to keep from shouting. He didn’t know why, but the idea of Daichi beating himself up about something he couldn’t have changed frustrated him, saddened him; he wanted to shake the other boy, yell at him for being stupid enough to ever even _consider_ that it was his fault.

Instead, he knocked their knees together again. “Sawamura-san…”

There was a long silence. Then: “You should call me Daichi from now on.”

Koushi blinked. “Wh-what?”

“Since we’re together.” Daichi nudged his knee back playfully. “And I’ll call you Suga. Or Koushi, if you’d prefer.”

Koushi’s face burned. “Y-you’re really okay with calling me that?”

The taller shrugged. “Why not? Unless…” His face turned pink. “…You think it’s moving too fast? Or that it’s weird?”

_Moving too fast_ …? Where they even really…? Koushi tried to force himself to stop blushing, looking away stiffly. “Are we actually…?”

“’Actually’…?”

“You know…like…dating.”

“Oh.” Daichi blinked. “ _Oh_. Um. I. I thought we were, if, that’s, I mean, if that’s what you want us to be doing.”

The two sat there for a moment, Koushi mulling this new information over. Of course he’d known that they weren’t just friends—he wasn’t very good with relationships, but as far as he was aware, friends didn’t usually like kissing each other—but he hadn’t given himself time to actually think about what he _wanted_ them to be.

It hadn’t felt right, being allowed something nice like this. He kept feeling like Daichi was going to turn around and say that this wasn’t what he wanted, that he hadn’t wanted to be with Koushi in the first place, that Koushi was not worthy of being loved so easily. Koushi hadn’t _earned_ this love, had done nothing for months but try to push it away. How could he be given this without working for it? Without groveling for it, without crying over it, without hating it?

“I…” Koushi licked his lips. He thought about his father’s paradoxical love and his mother’s conditional love—then thought about his own. Hesitantly, he nodded, once, then twice, more sure of himself. “Yes. I want us to be dating…Daichi.”

Daichi beamed, and it was the first time Koushi had ever seen him smile with teeth. His fangs weren’t particularly impressive, but there was something intimate about Daichi allowing Koushi and only Koushi to see the thing about himself he hated most. “That’s—I’m glad. Koushi.”

 

\--

 

By winter, the rest of Corvum had caught on, and it reflected badly on Koushi. They’d tried to keep it a secret; any of Koushi’s relationships, romantic or otherwise, were purposefully kept quiet. Koushi had never allowed himself the luxury of being open with positive emotions. To show his subordinates he loved was to show them he was weak—at least, that’s what his father said. Love was a form of kindness, and kindness was idiocy.

But Koushi was barely in his seventies, as they were all so fond of reminding him. His friendship with Asahi hadn’t been hidden as well as it probably should have, but they let that one slide, maybe because it was normal that vampires from powerful families would grow close. But a romantic one—and a romantic one with a subordinate, a _turned_ vampire no less—wasn’t going to be politely swept under the rug. He’d been losing power for years now, had maybe never really had power to begin with, and what was left was quickly being taken from him.

By 1996, he, Asahi, and Daichi ran away.

It was a stupid move, but—wasn’t this what Koushi had always wanted? To leave Corvum Nigrum, to chose his own future? Wasn’t this what he was getting?

Ultimately, no, no, he didn’t regret this. They were three runaways, barely fourteen each, and they were getting what they wanted. It hadn’t been a hard decision. It was the only one left to make.

They survived pretty well on their own. Koushi and Asahi both were rich, with an impressive amount saved up. For a few years, they did nothing but travel and survive together. Corvum didn’t come looking for them. They had wanted to get rid of Koushi, and they got what they wanted.

The only regret Koushi had was leaving his mother. But as her grief lessened, she’d returned to keeping her son at a distance, and he doubted she would miss him too badly. He could visit, he thought, if he really needed to.

Daichi started pitching the idea of a circus mid-1996. It started out as passing comments to Koushi, whimsical thoughts to entertain as they were falling asleep, Asahi already passed out a futon over. _Wouldn’t it be great if_ and _just imagine it, Koushi._

“Poetic justice,” he’d said, and Koushi couldn’t help giggling.

“Don’t try to play god, Daichi.”

“I’m not.” But he was smiling too. He rolled over so they were facing each other in the dark. Koushi could make out the other’s dimples, the flutter of his eyelashes: a perk of being able to see at night. “Think about it, Koushi. Us three, helping people.”

Koushi nodded. “It would be great.”

“It would be _amazing_.” And with the way he said it, Koushi couldn’t help but hope that dream would come true. “My parents would be turning over in their grave at the idea of their circus being used to help monsters instead of harm them.”

“Poetic justice,” Koushi repeated. A thought struck him, and he smiled. “Say this actually happened some day. What jobs would we have?”

Daichi didn’t have to think about it. “You would be an acrobat, obviously.”

“Oh, _obviously_.”

“Of course.” Daichi’s face split into a grin, rare and attractive. “You’d look great in a leotard.”

Koushi couldn’t help it when he burst out laughing. Daichi shushed him hurriedly, saying he’d wake Asahi up, but the vampire did nothing but roll over in his sleep before falling still again. Still, Koushi stifled his laughter.

“And what about you?” he whispered, once they were sure they weren’t in danger of waking Asahi. “Who would you be?”

Daichi had to consider this for a moment. “I’m not sure. A clown, maybe?”

“ _No_.”

“I would.”

“You would _not_.” Giggling, Koushi reached out to flick the other’s forehead. Daichi dodged, but just barely. “You would be the ringleader.”

“ _What_.”

“You would!” Daichi shushed him again, so he repeated quieter, “You would. You’d be a great one, too.”

“I’m not a leader.”

“More so than me.”

They came to a silent, mutual agreement that this was now Sharing Time, something they only ever had in the dark. “You were a great leader, Koushi.”

Koushi snorted. “Oh, I’m a _great_ leader, running away from the gang I was supposed to be in charge of so I could be with my best friend and my boyfriend in the middle of nowhere.”

Daichi frowned. “You weren’t bad at _leading_. You were bad at killing.”

This should have made Koushi feel better; here was his boyfriend, telling him what he’d always wanted to hear, that he wasn’t meant to be a murderer. But killing and fighting was all he’d been raised to do, so if he wasn’t good at _that_ , what was he good for? He felt himself starting to shut down, and forced a smile. “Thank you.”

The other boy noticed the shift in mood. He grabbed Koushi’s hand in his lightly; he always held Koushi’s hand like that, softly, like he was giving Koushi a way out if he needed it. “You’re kinder than you think.”

“That’s where you’re wrong about me, though. Daichi, I’m not kind at all. I never have been.” _I wasn’t made to be_ , he thought.

“But you could be.”

Koushi didn’t respond to this. Some buried-deep part of him wanted it to be true, but it wasn’t, and he knew it wasn’t. They let this could-be sit between them in the dark, let it gnaw at Koushi’s hope and Daichi’s idyllic sense of justice, let it perch on their joined fingers.

“You never got to meet my father,” Koushi said, “but if you had, you would understand why I can’t be kind.”

“I doubt that.” Daichi said it like it was the truth. To him, it was.

“He used to tell me that kindness was weakness.” A lump formed in Koushi’s throat, but he ignored it. He had never spoken to anyone about this, had never mentioned his father to anyone but his mother since the man’s death. It was eating at him, weighing him down the way refusing to feed had.

The other vampire said nothing for a long moment, and the lack of response only made the lump in Koushi’s throat grow, like swallowing cotton balls. The corners of his eyes pricked.

Daichi asked, “What do you think my parents would do if they were around to see me like this?”

Koushi thought about it, but he couldn’t tell if “this _”_ referred to Daichi no longer being a human, his joining a gang of vampires, running away with two of them, or being in love with one. It could have been all four of those. Koushi said, “I don’t know.”

“They would have killed me.” He smiled. “I mean that literally. A son that’s a monster would’ve been worse than no son at all.”

“I’m sorry.” But it was a useless apology.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Daichi started. Had it not been Sharing Time, Koushi might have teased _as opposed to when it doesn’t?_ But as it was, he said nothing.

Daichi continued. “We don’t have to believe the same things our parents did. That—sounds obvious, but…just because your dad didn’t believe in being kind doesn’t mean you have to. You’re not tied to him anymore.”

To some degree, Koushi didn’t believe that. He would always be tied to his dad, and he would always be tied to Corvum, no matter how far away he ran, how kind he decided to be. But it was a nice sentiment, and he understood what Daichi was trying to get across.

He nodded.

 

\--

 

Good things could not last.

This was a truth that Koushi only half-believed. Good things _did_ last, and this one in particular for another six years. They travelled. They got involved in things they shouldn’t have. They worked, and they dreamed, and Daichi began planning his circus in a way that made it explicitly clear to all three of them that yes, it was no longer just a whimsical idea, and yes, it was going to be real.

Its reality solidified with a name: Karasuno. Asahi and Koushi had named it, with the prompting of Daichi. They worried over a name for almost a year, before it came to the two in a moment of clarity.

“Why Karasuno?” Daichi asked, then added, “Not that it isn’t a good name.”

“ _Corvum nigrum_ ,” Koushi said. “’Black crow.’ You wanted poetic justice, didn’t you?”

And so their circus, inspired by Daichi’s past, was named after Corvum, inspired by Koushi and Asahi’s. They were determined to take something wretched and make it holy.

So now they had a name, and this good thing continued—until it shattered in a moment of clarity. The other half of Koushi’s truth presented itself plainly in front of them, in the form of two, grieving witches.

Technically, it presented itself first in near-death. Koushi had always thought that if he were attacked, he would have no issue defending himself; after all, that was all he was good for. But he’d gone nearly six years without any fighting beyond occasional, nostalgic spars with Asahi, and so when the time came that he _was_ attacked, he was rewarded with seven broken bones and stolen pride. The two men who had done this—one a demon, infuriatingly indifferent, and the other a witch, even more frustrating in his smugness—left him slipping into unconsciousness. Daichi and Asahi found him soon after, and while the amount of money taken wasn’t anything they couldn’t afford, Daichi was _livid_.

This, Koushi didn’t entirely understand. He would heal. The experience wasn’t a good one by any means, but he would heal, and they could earn the money back. It was Koushi’s own foolishness that got him in this situation, his own fault for staying out of shape, how own fault for insisting on running to the store in the dead of night when he _knew_ they weren’t in a safe area. He had subconsciously believed he was invincible as he had been with Corvum, and so he paid for it.

But Daichi didn’t see it like that.

It was luck, or rather a lack of, that once Koushi had healed, the three would come across the witch who had assaulted Koushi. Daichi and Asahi didn’t know this, having found Koushi after his assailants had disappeared, but they noticed Koushi’s shift in mood, the way he deliberately tried to get them to head back to their motel and forget about the night walk. They asked. Koushi couldn’t lie.

He should have. It had been weeks, but Daichi was no less furious than he’d originally been. He dragged the two with him with the intent of settling this—something that would solve _nothing_ , but Koushi couldn’t change his mind. He would grow out of his brashness, but as it was, Daichi was sixteen and stupid, and so ignored it when they found the witch in the middle of what looked like a ritual, and ignored that the man was with someone who hadn’t been involved in Koushi’s assault.

The confrontation took thirty minutes. The man’s name was Kuroo, as they found out, and he was very busy, he said. “We can settle this later,” he bargained.

Daichi wasn’t having it. “We can settle this _now_.”

Kuroo opened his mouth. His friend, who they would later identify as a seer named Kenma, put a hand on his shoulder. Kuroo stayed quiet.

“We don’t want trouble,” Kenma said. He was messing with some candles, placing them in a circle around a pile of something Koushi couldn’t identify.

“That’s funny considering what you wanted the other night.”

“Kenma isn’t involved in this,” Kuroo snapped. “If you’re really looking for a fight, wait until Akaashi comes back. He’s worse than me, wouldn’t you say?” And he turned the question to Koushi. It was a true statement; the demon had been the main one fighting, and maybe that was why Koushi lost so easily. Vampires and humans he could deal with. Demons were another thing entirely.

Daichi ground his jaw. “No.” And that was the end of trying to talk it out.

Whatever the two were doing, they clearly weren’t going to get to finish, and Daichi didn’t give them the chance to. By ten minutes, they were sparring. By twenty, Kuroo was losing.

By thirty, Kenma was bleeding out.

It hadn’t been Daichi’s intention. Koushi knew this, even if Kuroo didn’t; killing had _never_ been Daichi’s intention. But Kuroo was losing and Kenma was too smart to sit back and watch.

Koushi hadn’t realized it at the time, but Kuroo had a knife on him, maybe because he knew he couldn’t win against a vampire otherwise. In their fighting, Daichi got a hold of it. It escalated too quickly after that for Koushi or Asahi to step in—by the time Daichi blinded Kuroo, neither could distinguish accident from purpose. Kuroo was left open. Kenma stepped in.

It was a full moon.

 

\--

 

Tadashi disappeared to the attic the moment he was allowed.

The house was too full, too heavy, too much, and he couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t that he hadn’t known something like this was going on—the attack had made it pretty clear that whatever skeletons were in Karasuno’s closet weren’t going to stay hidden much longer. But hearing it was different than imagining it, and Tadashi couldn’t breathe.

He was sitting on the floor in front of the window doing breathing exercises that Ennoshita had taught him when he heard the latch come undone and a blonde head poked itself through the attic’s door. Tsukishima climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and shut the door back behind him.

Neither of them said anything in greeting. Tsukki sat on the carpet across from Tadashi and folded his hands in his lap. Tadashi licked his lips, trying to ignore how dry his mouth felt.

“Did you know?”

Tsukki pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”

Tadashi sucked in a sharp breath. He had known this also, to some degree. There was no way Tsukki wouldn’t have picked up on something like this; he was psychic after all, he must have had dream after dream about Daichi’s past and the witches he’d wronged. Tadashi had just hoped, maybe naively, that he hadn’t.

“Right,” he mumbled. “Of course.”

“You left pretty quickly,” Tsukki observed mildly. The unspoken question of why that was hung in the air. Tsukishima had never been good at saying things right out. He worked better with implications.

“There…were too many people.” It wasn’t a lie.

But it wasn’t the full truth either. Tsukishima knew this and didn’t point it out. They sat in silence, and when it got to be too much for Tadashi, he asked quietly, “What now?”

“Now,” Tsukishima said, “we wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments r 100%% always loved and super duper appreciated
> 
> also, only sort of related to this fic, gray is going to be starting the comic that this au is based off of (monsterverse) this summer, so if any1s interested in that, information abt it will be on his blog sometime soon!


	10. lost at sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Daichi, Shouyou said, “Do you remember the name of the monster you killed fifteen years ago?”
> 
> The vampire didn’t react immediately. It took a long second and a low, shameful nod before his face paled. “Kenma.”
> 
> “He’s haunting me.”
> 
> \--
> 
> by the waysay, ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST OFF, many many many apologies for how long this chapter took, especially since its not entirely plot-heavy (its more of a transition chapter, with a hint of a side-quest sort of thing near the end) the reasons for why it took so long include: depression-induced writers block on grays part lmao, issues with writing this bc of the nature of it being a Transition Chap, and the fact that exams/eocs/finals/literally every assignment ever was either due these past weeks or will be due in the next couple
> 
> that being said, expect the next 2-ish chapters to take a little longer than what we were doing before. hopefully they wont take nearly 3 weeks (rip @ chapter 10) but 2 weeks will probably be the average if we're to keep with this 10k-a-chap theme and still put our school work first
> 
> the good news is that this chap, while not super plot-heavy, is pretty relationship-development-heavy and is just Full of little kagehina moments so if ur here for the kagehina, the fic is earning its tag p soon ;)

It took Shouyou two hours before he finally fell asleep that night, and when he did, he dreamt something awful. He woke that morning unable to remember his dream at all, but whatever it had been, it left him sweating and near tears when he finally crawled out of bed. Kenma was still sitting on the floor in front of the bed, looking out the window, the way he had been when Shouyou had finally slipped into unconsciousness. Kenma didn’t say anything. Shouyou didn’t either.

Most days, Shouyou woke right as breakfast was being announced. But the sky was pitch black, and since he didn’t have a clock in his room, he tiptoed downstairs to find that it was five A.M. The living room’s grandfather clock stared at him, old and impressive and still ticking. He watched the little hand tick, counting the seconds under his breath along with it. From the kitchen, he heard glass shatter.

“ _Shit_!”

Shouyou poked his head into the doorway. Kageyama was bent over, cursing under his breath and trying to sweep the broken glass up into his open palm. The shards were small, and Shouyou watched him cut himself on one before stepping into the room.

“Why’re you up?”

The vampire jumped. He turned to Shouyou just as quickly, glaring. “Why are _you_ up?”

“I can’t sleep.”

Kageyama stared at him, then turned his glare to the glass in his hand. “Me neither.”

“Do vampires need sleep?” Shouyou asked, bending down to pick up a piece the other had missed. He threw it into the sink, careful of its edges.

“Of course we need sleep, dumbass.” Despite the insult, Kageyama didn’t sound upset—it must have been too early for him to get angry, Shouyou thought. He stood up, cradling the rest of the shards in his palm, and set them in the sink much more carefully than Shouyou had. The cut on his hand was already closing. “Just…less.”

Shouyou blinked. “How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

He gestured to the other’s hand. “The cut’s gone!”

“Oh.” Kageyama looked where Shouyou had pointed, like he hadn’t noticed he’d been bleeding in the first place, but didn’t try to explain how that had happened. He turned back to the kitchen counter, pulling out a new glass. Everyone at Karasuno had gone to bed the night before looking thirty years older, and he was no exception. In the dark, Shouyou could make out the scars marring his face, the line dipping into his collarbone that his pajama shirt didn’t quite cover, the closing wound on his hand. His skin seemed to glow white, he was so pale.

It became clear conversation was over for the time being, but Shouyou stayed, leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. He didn’t want to go back to his room, back to no sleep and someone he wasn’t sure he’d ever known in the first place. Kenma used to be familiar, a comfort, the one constant in Shouyou’s life—but he was little else than washed out these days. He’d hardly spoken to Shouyou since they got back to Karasuno, and the silence had become suffocating.

Now, he watched Kageyama pour a drink. Shouyou was used to seeing him feed when they sat together at meals, but now that it was just the two of them and the five A.M. darkness, Kageyama seemed reluctant. He glanced at Shouyou, frowning. “What?”

“Do you want to go see Orthrus with me?” he blurted. That wasn’t what he had intended to ask, even if he had been thinking about it. Instead of taking it back, he pressed his lips together and waited.

Kageyama’s eyebrows furrowed, and he only seemed older for it. He looked like he wanted to demand why, maybe tell Shouyou that was a ridiculous suggestion—but after a moment, he shut his mouth and nodded once, stiffly. He downed the blood in two swift gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it. Shouyou considered for the second time asking what it tasted like, but decided against it, afraid conversation would persuade the other to change his mind, afraid it would break whatever this was that allowed him to ask Kageyama to come with him and allowed Kageyama to say yes.

They crept out the front door, throwing on coats and scarves over their pajamas on the way out. It was January second and, although not snowing, below freezing. Shouyou had never done well in the cold, even if he enjoyed it. He threw a hat over his head for good measure and closed the door quietly behind them. They trudged across the fair grounds in direction of the animal tents, Shouyou leading. Neither of them tried to force conversation. Shouyou couldn’t decide whether or not he was thankful for this.

Orthrus was napping when they got there, but she jumped up to greet the two when she realized it was Shouyou. She didn’t waste time trying to lick him, and even as he was trying to push her off, he was smiling.

Kageyama stood a couple of feet behind, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, shoulders hunched—the very image of discomfort. He looked so awkward standing there, coat two sizes too big, shoulders pushed nearly against his ears and frowning at anything, that Shouyou couldn’t help but laugh. The other boy turned his frown on Shouyou, demanding, “What? What are you laughing at?”

Shouyou didn’t answer, which he figured was a rather smart choice. He waved the vampire over. “Come on, Orthrus doesn’t bite. What’re you standing all the way over there for?”

“Of course I know she doesn’t bite, stupid,” Kageyama mumbled, but the step he took towards the beast was hesitant. He looked at each of Orthrus’s heads carefully, like he was trying to decide which one he should approach.

“Have you two met before?” Shouyou brushed his fingers through Orthrus’s fur. It always surprised him how well groomed she was. Hitoka took very good care of her.

“Uh,” Kageyama still hadn’t taken another step, “once.”

“Then what’re you so scared for?”

“I’m not scared!” It was an immediate and petulant response, and Kageyama realized it. He crossed his arms with too much force, the sleeves of his coat squishing together. Shouyou wondered if he hadn’t grabbed Asahi’s on accident.

Kageyama said something too quietly for Shouyou to make out.

“What?”

“I’m not—“ Even in the dark, Shouyou could see his face turning red. “…A fan of dogs.”

Shouyou had two instantaneous thoughts. The first one was _how could anyone not be a “fan” of dogs especially MULT-HEADED dogs, they are SO COOL what the HECK._ The second was why Kageyama had said yes to visiting Orthrus with Shouyou in the first place if he hadn’t even intended on really _visiting_ the animal.

He voiced neither of these questions. Instead, he huffed and stalked up to the other. Kageyama stiffened like he was trying to start a fight, on his guard now that Shouyou was in close proximity; but all Shouyou did was grab his wrist and pull him towards Orthrus, saying, “Come one, she won’t hurt you!”

Kageyama spluttered, and Shouyou realized belatedly how cold the other’s skin was, like ice. One of Orthrus’s heads came up to sniff them as they approached, more interested in Kageyama now that there was someone new.

“Orthrus.” Shouyou grabbed Kageyama’s other hand and held it out to the beast for her to sniff. “This is Kageyama. Kageyama.” Orthrus licked his palm twice, then seemed to decide she was done greeting him. “This is Orthrus.”

The vampire’s expression flickered between embarrassment and something close to warmth. Shouyou had seen that warmth one other time, on the twenty-second, and he hadn’t realized he missed it until now. But Kageyama decided on his perpetual annoyance, frowning once again, and Shouyou wished he hadn’t.

Still frowning, he grumbled like a last ditch effort, “She smells gross.”

“She’s a _dog_!”

Orthrus seemed to follow the conversation, and at Shouyou’s defense of her turned the head closest to him to nuzzle his shoulder.

It wasn’t until Kageyama squeezed his hand that Shouyou realized they were still touching. But Kageyama looked genuinely upset now; while his furrowed eyebrows had been for show earlier, his breath seemed to pick up. Shouyou pulled away from the dog.

“You’re really that freaked out by her?” He hadn’t meant to ask so quietly, but they were still under the veil of five A.M., and the quiet shake of the taller boy’s palm was too real to be forced annoyance.

“I’m not,” he said but without conviction. His skin was still freezing under Shouyou.

Maybe because he was trying to change the topic, maybe because he was genuinely curious—Shouyou asked, “Is it normal for vampires to be so cold?”

Whether or not that was the original intent, it got Kageyama’s mind off his nerves. He glanced at their joined hands and promptly turned red, dropping Shouyou’s like it had burned him. “What are you talking about?”

“Your skin’s really cold.” Already knowing he sounded stupid, he said, “Is that a vampire thing?”

“My skin’s not…”

Shouyou held out his palm and shook his head. “Is too. Feel me, I’m definitely not that cold.”

Kageyama glared. “No.”

“Then I can’t prove how cold you are!”

“Maybe you’re just abnormally warm.”

Shouyou stuck his palm out more insistently. “Still can’t prove it unless you touch me.”

“…No.”

Outside the tents, the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon. It would take another thirty minutes before it would have fully risen. “Fine,” he relented, pulling his hand back and crossing his arms. “You’re no fun.”

Kageyama didn’t take the bait. Orthrus wasn’t paying them any mind anymore, tired of their antics, but he still looked uneasy. Shouyou ran a hand through the dog’s fur one last time before facing the tent’s entrance.

“Suga-san will be up soon,” he said. “We should…head back inside.”

Kageyama nodded his agreement. Their walk back was almost a repeat of the walk there, except that Shouyou, while kicking rocks through their path, ended the silence. “Why’d you come with me if you’re scared of dogs?”

“I’m not _scared_ of them,” Kageyama snapped. Then, sheepishly: “I just…don’t like them.”

Shouyou was gracious and didn’t mention that Kageyama’s fear, unlike so many of his other emotions, hadn’t been for show. “Sure. So then why’d you come?”

The sky was a muddy gray-blue, fog settling low over the fair grounds. Kageyama shoved his hands in his pockets again. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.” Shouyou didn’t know why this answer upset him so much, but it did. “Right. Nothing better to do.”

“Right,” the other boy echoed. “Nothing better.” They fell into silence again.

The porch steps creaked under their weight, and Shouyou could see that Suga and Daichi’s room light was on already; Asahi would wake soon, and in an hour or so, they would eat breakfast as a family. They didn’t do this every day, but it was frequent enough that Shouyou felt odd when they didn’t.

Kageyama pulled his hands from his coat and let them hang at his sides awkwardly. He wasn’t the tallest member of Karasuno, but his limbs always seemed too long, like he hadn’t grown into his body yet. Shouyou couldn’t imagine having to live like that for five to ten years before his body caught up, stuck in elongated growth. Kageyama raised his right hand towards Shouyou like he was offering a handshake, bringing Shouyou from his musings.

Shouyou blinked. “Uh…?”

“You wanted to prove that I’m cold.”

“…Oh, right.” He took the offered hand, and they stood there for a moment, visibly uncomfortable. Kageyama frowned.

“You _are_ warm.”

Shouyou said, “I’m sorry I made you meet Orthrus.”

In mirror of Shouyou, Kageyama blinked. He took his hand away, letting it swing at his side again, back to symmetry. “It’s…fine.” He said it like a question—not like he was questioning his forgiveness, but like he was questioning the need for an apology in the first place.

“I didn’t realize you were, like, _actually_ sc—nervous around them. I thought it was just you being, you know, a fuddy-duddy again.”

“I’m not scared of them.”

This denial was getting old, but Shouyou agreed, “Uh-huh.”

“I’m not.” Kageyama huffed. “It’s just that…animals don’t usually… _like_ me.”

Shouyou shrugged. “Orthrus seemed to like you just fine.” After a beat, he added, “But you would probably have better luck with them if you didn’t always have such a scary face.”

“This is just my face, dumbass!”

The room next to Daichi and Suga’s lit up. People were starting to stir, even this early. Realizing just how long they’d been standing on the porch, Shouyou opened the door, leading them inside. “Nuh-uh, your scary face isn’t the same as your normal face.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Does too!” He closed the door behind him and stopped with his hands on his hips. “Look at me.”

Kageyama did. “What?” he snapped.

“I’m trying to prove a point, stop glaring—“

“I’m not glaring!”

Asahi popped his head out from the kitchen, their bickering having interrupted him. He must have gotten up to start breakfast, Shouyou thought. “Um, guys…?”

“Sorry, Asahi-san!” Shouyou whispered, although it came out as more of a hushed yell. “We’ll be quieter!”

“Dumbass, you’re still yelling.”

Shouyou opened his mouth to retort before realizing he would only be louder that way. He pressed his lips together, swallowing a huff, and unwrapped the scarf from around his neck. He debated going back to his room and trying to fall asleep again since the walk had done its job at tiring him but thought against it. He wondered if Kenma was still sitting at the foot of the bed, or if the sun rising had pulled him from his staring.

In the kitchen, Asahi was already cooking, Nishinoya sitting on the counter with a cup of coffee cradled in both hands. Noya perked up when he saw Shouyou and Kageyama. “Whatchya two up for?”

“We couldn’t sleep,” Shouyou answered for the both of them. Kageyama didn’t say anything, still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest uncomfortably.

The werewolf nodded empathetically. It seemed no one at Karasuno had been able to get a good night’s rest recently. “Me neither. I figured I might as well get up with Asahi then, you know, keep him company and all.”

Asahi flushed and ducked his head down. Shouyou blinked between them but didn’t ask.

“Anyway,” Noya continued, “what were you doin’ outside?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Kageyama still didn’t seem like he wanted to speak, so Shouyou shrugged. “Taking a walk.”

“It’s dead cold outside.”

If Shouyou hadn’t known better, he would’ve said that sounded like an accusation. Nishinoya was still giving him that look, like he was waiting for them to admit to something. Shouyou said, “I wanted to see Orthrus.”

Noya looked like he wanted to continue pushing, but Asahi turned to him. “Can you get the milk out for me?” and that seemed to end the conversation.

It wasn’t five minutes later that Shouyou started to wish it _hadn’t_ ended. Karasuno had gone to bed the night before with a heavy weight on everyone’s shoulders, an awkward silence, and a plethora of unspoken questions. Shouyou had hoped, maybe naively, that it would be gone in the morning, like a headache or bad taste in your mouth that can be slept off. That hope dissolved with the quiet that fell over the four of them, the only sound coming from Shouyou’s beating heart and Asahi’s cooking.

Shouyou didn’t like the quiet. He was scrambling for something to say, a thought or topic to clear the air of whatever this was, when Nishinoya set his cup in the sink, pushed off from the counter, and said, “So I heard you managed to shift all the way.”

“Oh, yeah!” This was something good, something they could talk about that wouldn’t make things worse, and Shouyou jumped at the opportunity. “Did Daichi-san tell you?”

Noya’s eyes flickered over to Kageyama. “You could say that,” he mused cryptically. Before Shouyou could ask about it, he continued, “Do you think you could do it again? You know, since we weren’t there to see it and all.”

Kageyama bristled. “Nishinoya-san—“

“I can try.”

Everyone seemed a little surprised at that, much to Shouyou’s annoyance. Asahi fiddled with the stove’s knob, turning the temperature down. “Hinata, are you sure…?”

“It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve done it before.” Only once, but nobody pointed that out. At the time it had happened, Shouyou had been so busy trying to get away that he hadn’t had time to bother with the breathing exercises and meditation that Yamaguchi had worked with him on; it had come naturally as a result—as it always was—of his emotions. He just hoped he’d be able to do it this time, too, even if he _wasn’t_ being kidnapped.

Shouyou tried to remember how he’d felt, calming his breathing and closing his eyes. He knew the others were probably looking at him, but he forced himself not to think about it or else get nervous and clam up. He thought about Orthrus and the conversation he’d had with Kageyama and felt his bones reshaping themselves.

Shifting wasn’t a painful experience—it happened so quickly that he didn’t have time to feel any of the pain—but it was an odd one, especially when he opened his eyes again and found himself much closer to the ground than he’d originally been. Nishinoya looked like he’d just won the lottery, while Asahi and Kageyama both looked some shade of impressed—Asahi’s tinged with worry, Kageyama’s tinged with annoyance. Shouyou would have grinned, had he been able to.

“Shouyou!” Nishinoya crouched down on the floor so he was on eyelevel with the boy-turned-dog. “That is so _cool_ , what the _fuck!_ ”

“You’ll wake the others up,” Asahi chastised, but he had stopped cooking to watch Shouyou. Noya ignored the vampire, still babbling away about how awesome it was that Shouyou had done that, bringing a hand down to pet him. Bokuto had done the same thing the day before, but this time Shouyou didn’t shy away.

Noya was in the middle of loudly debating waking Tanaka up just so he could see this when there were feet on the stairs and Yamaguchi appeared at the doorway. Kageyama moved out of the way for him, but the witch stopped at the threshold, blinking in surprise at Shouyou.

“Why is there…?” he started groggily. He must have just woken up; he was still in pajamas, and his voice was hoarse.

Noya proudly proclaimed, “Shouyou shifted!”

If Yamaguchi had been surprised to see a dog sitting in the middle of the kitchen, he was even more surprised to find said dog was Shouyou. He blinked, blinked some more, then split into a smile. “Hinata, that’s great!”

Shouyou came to weave between the witch’s legs in agreement. Yamaguchi bent down to pet him but paused with his hand in the air. “Is it okay if I…? I mean, you’re still you, so I don’t know if that’s, uh, disrespectful, or…”

In answer, Shouyou butted his head into Yamaguchi’s open palm. It was weird not being able to respond by speaking—even weirder feeling himself in a different body—but Nishinoya and Yamaguchi were both so excited about his shifting that he stayed like that.

But he couldn’t stay like that forever, and within ten minutes he had to change back. When he was with Kuroo, he had managed to stay shifted for longer, but he had still been riding his adrenaline rush and his fear had made staying that way significantly easier. Now, where he was comfortable, it was a surprise he had even stayed change for as long as he did.

Noya attacked him in a hug once he was back to two legs. “Shouyou’s the absolute coolest!” It was still only six-thirty, but he had apparently woken up enough to be back to his loud, excitable self again. The werewolf pulled away, but only so he could ask, “Is it possible for you to shift into another person?”

Shouyou frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like, change into me or Ryuu or something.” He was grinning mischievously, and if Daichi had been here, he probably would’ve knocked Noya upside the head. “Like a doppelgänger.”

“I’m…” Shouyou thought about it. “Not sure. Uh, I guess maybe if I get better at it I could?”

The conversation ended when Sugawara came downstairs to check on them. “What’s all the yelling about?”

Everyone stilled, not unlike the way they had been earlier. Although they’d been able to ignore the elephant in the room when they were busy with Shouyou’s shifting, it was more difficult to do so when the object of worry himself was present.

Kageyama was the first one to speak, to Shouyou’s surprise. “Sorry, Suga-san. Nishinoya was just…”

That seemed to bring Noya out of his temporary silence. “Shouyou shifted!”

Suga raised his eyebrows. Unlike the rest of them, he had changed out of his pajamas already. “That _is_ exciting,” he agreed. Had it come from anybody else, it would’ve sounded dismissive; but Suga only sounded like he meant it. He turned to Asahi. “Do you need my help with breakfast?”

“Yes, please,” Asahi nodded, and everyone else seemed to breathe again.

 

\--

 

“We need to tell them.”

“So tell them.”

“But what about Kuroo?”

“…What about him?”

“You want to see him again.”

“…”

“Kenma, if we tell them, then you aren’t…”

“I know that.”

“And you still want me to…?”

“We don’t have much other choice, Sho. Do what you need to. I won’t be mad. I promise.”

“…If you’re okay with it.”

 

\--

 

There were very little places at Karasuno that were private. Finding alone time was always a battle; Shouyou had only been here for a month and he already knew this. At any given time, almost every room was occupied by someone. The safest bet was usually your own room, but even then you would have to be careful. The walls were thin, and the house was busy.

Daichi’s office, however, was off limits unless said otherwise. Even outside of Daichi’s word and the understanding that trespassing was not allowed, it was protected by two locks and a spell cast by Shimizu to make the walls soundproof; “It’s the best place for keeping secrets,” Suga told Shouyou with a wry smile. “But I guess there aren’t as many of those anymore.”

Shouyou had come to the two with the request to speak to them in private—“It’s really, _really_ important,” he’d said, and then wished he hadn’t because he was just barely on board with the plan for telling them. But, he rationalized, the longer he waited to get this out in the air the worse it would make the situation; so he steeled himself and let the door lock.

Four bodies in the room: two vampire, one chameleon, one dead.

Daichi’s office consisted of one desk, one couch, two armchairs, a window, and a filing cabinet—not including the trinkets, pictures, masks, and other assorted items that covered the walls. A cow skull glared at Shouyou, and he sunk further into the couch. Across from him sat Suga and Daichi; normally, they would’ve been behind the desk, but they must have sensed how scared he was and felt it more comforting to present themselves less formally. He wished they hadn’t. This close, he could already feel himself starting to panic.

Kenma sat on the couch next to him, translucent legs crossed. In the past couple of weeks, he had started to look more solid, more alive; but since returning home last night, he’d reverted back to holographic and irrefutably dead. He put a hand on Shouyou’s. “It’s okay,” he said.

Daichi and Sugawara were waiting for him to speak, he realized. Shouyou straightened up. “I have something to tell you…about, um, about what happened yesterday.”

They exchanged glances. Daichi nodded, slowly. “Okay,” he said, and Shouyou saw some of what everyone had meant when they said Daichi was unintentionally paternal. “What is it?”

“There’s, well, um…” What was the best way to go about this? Shouyou hadn’t wanted to think this far, and so forced himself to go in blindly. How could he tell them he was being haunted by the monster they’d killed without sounding like a liar?

Suga noticed his unease. “Hinata-kun, if it’s too hard for you, we can always wait.”

“No, that’s…that’ll only make it worse.” He tried to smile. “Thank you, but I need to tell you now. I’m, uh…” Kenma flickered next to him. “I’m being haunted.”

Shouyou knew Karasuno was not comprised of average people and that weird shit, as with all circuses, happened fairly often; even so, he had been expecting at least _mild_ surprise at best. But the two of them didn’t even so much as blink.

Daichi nodded again. “We figured as much.”

“You— _what_?”

“Tsukishima has been having dreams about ghosts ever since you got here,” Sugawara explained. “We weren’t one-hundred percent sure, but we had our suspicions. We figured you would come to us about it sooner or later. That being said,” his expression turned serious, “if it’s harming you in anyway, we can perform an exorcism—“

“No!”

Both their eyes widened at the outburst. Shouyou shrunk back in the cushion; he hadn’t intended to react like that.

“No,” he tried again, aware of his volume. “It-it’s okay. He’s…we’re friends. I don’t want him gone.”

“That’s alright too,” Daichi assured. “If he isn’t bothering you, we don’t have any problems with it. But if that’s the case,” here, some of his fear from the night before bled through, “what does that have to do with last night?”

Kenma had been quiet during the conversation, but now, he asked, “Sho, would it be okay if I spoke to them?”

Shouyou wanted to respond, but the two were still looking at him expectantly, no doubt patiently allowing him the time to gather himself. He couldn’t decide if he was thankful for their kindness or not. He licked his lips and nodded once in answer to Kenma. If they thought this was odd, they didn’t ask about it.

To Daichi, Shouyou said, “Do you remember the name of the monster you killed fifteen years ago?”

The vampire didn’t react immediately. It took a long second and a low, shameful nod before his face paled. “Kenma.”

“He’s haunting me.”

Just as earlier, neither of them responded the way Shouyou thought they would. There was no gasp, hardly any shock; and, fortunately or unfortunately, no anger. Just a low-hanging head and Suga’s tight-lipped, sad smile. “We figured as much too.”

Kenma’s hand on Shouyou’s wrist turned cold. He stayed quiet—but that, Shouyou thought, could have stemmed from habit, and not a lack of something to say. Shouyou sucked in a breath and released it in what might have been him asking _how._

“Kuroo,” Suga said, “isn’t one to give up easily, but he also isn’t stupid. If he came back, he came back because he knew there was something to gain from it. And during my fight with Akaashi—one of Kuroo’s friends—he said…well, he asked about where someone is.”

“Tsukishima’s been having dreams about Kenma,” Daichi added. He didn’t sound any different than normal, but Shouyou knew better. “There are only so many hints you can get before it becomes clear.”

“Oh.” Shouyou paused. “So, you aren’t…like, mad at me for keeping this from you…?”

Daichi frowned. “Of course not, Hinata. Why would we be mad at you?”

“I-I don’t know…” Shouyou flushed. “I guess because I didn’t tell you for so long, and I sort of already knew that there was something bad going on, and I didn’t mention it last night even when you explained about Kuroo—“

“Hold on,” Suga paused him. “What do you mean you ‘already knew’?”

“Kenma’s scared of you guys.” The ghost stiffened at his wording, so he amended, “Er, I mean, he was really uncomfortable with me staying here at first, even though he didn’t know why. He didn’t have all his memories for a really long time, so we couldn’t figure out why he was so nervous around you two and Asahi…”

There was a pause, five beats too many. Shouyou fidgeted in the couch, and when still no one spoke, hurriedly offered, “You can talk to him, if you want to. I mean—I can see why you _wouldn’t_ want to, but…”

Kenma’s hand on his wrist tightened almost unnoticeably, and his form shifted so he was closer to Shouyou, as close as he could be without passing right through the other. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

Suga started, “I’m not sure if that’s—“

“It’s fine,” Daichi interrupted. “It’s—yes. That’s…I want to talk to him. If that’s okay.”

Shouyou nodded, and Kenma took his hand away, standing up silently. “I’m sorry if this hurts again. I’ll try to leave sooner than last time.”

Then there was pain, and Shouyou lost his body.

 

\--

 

Tobio spent the next day helping Karasuno pack up. No one had officially said anything, but it was clear that their time in this town was up, and they would be relocating as soon as they could. Relocating was always a long and unfortunately straining part of their life; it took all sixteen members and then some to get the tents packed and trucks loaded. They’d spent the past month here, a good week or two more than normal, and so had gotten especially comfortable. Tobio had no qualms with leaving, would prefer the change in scenery actually—but that couldn’t be said for everyone. They were usually more careful about how long they stayed somewhere, avoiding getting attached or weighed down, but they’d been reckless recently in more ways than one, and so were making up for it in rushed, frantic moving.

No one mentioned it, but it was clear that there was another reason they were choosing now of all times to leave. Karasuno’s founders were nervous and, as much as they tried to hide it, visibly so. Daichi had been little more than a wreck the past forty-eight hours but with the packing he seemed to regain his footing a little, like just the notion of leaving was helping bring back his strength. It was unusual of him to run away, Tobio thought, but he’d done many unusual things the past couple of days.

(And even if he wanted to, Tobio couldn’t really blame him. Were he in Daichi’s position he’d do the same thing and had more than once before.)

As always, Hinata was clueless to what was going on. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like, dumbass?” Tobio and Tsukishima were in the process of taking down one of their many smaller-scale tents, working together because Daichi asked them to. Tsukishima would have greatly preferred to be upstairs doing jack all nothing, Tobio knew, but hardly anyone ever directly refused Daichi, and so he was stuck climbing the side of the tent, unhooking it on his way down. Tobio was doing the same to the other side.

Hinata puffed up the way he always did when Tobio called him a name, like a puppy trying to make itself look bigger. He put his hands on his hips defiantly, tilting his head up to look at them. From on the ground, he looked even smaller. “If I knew I wouldn’t be asking, Bakageyama.”

Tobio almost fell off. “What the _hell_?!”

“If you’re done exchanging pet names,” Tsukishima said, making a show of rolling his eyes, “we’re supposed to be doing something.”

“Piss off, Tsukishima,” Tobio snapped, but it was pointless with how hot his face felt. Hinata looked just as annoyed at the psychic as Tobio did. The two of them seemed to agree on very little, but that Tsukishima was an asshole was consistently one of them.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Hinata bounced on the soles of his feet, “you never told me what you were doing.”

“We’re taking the tent down,” Tobio answered, if only so the redhead would _go away already_. He was _busy_. He didn’t need or want distractions and even if he did, _not_ in the form of Hinata.

“Yeah, but why?”

Tsukishima slid down the side, landing nonchalantly on his feet. “I’m done here. You two are giving me a headache.”

Tobio gritted his teeth but didn’t say anything as the psychic sauntered away. “Asshole.”

“You never said why,” Hinata pushed.

“Why can’t you just go ask Yachi or something?”

“She’s busy.” He shrugged. “Besides, I just asked you.”

Tobio pressed his lips together to keep from snapping. It was stupid, but since opening night, he’d—well, he’d been flat out avoiding him. Tobio had more than enough on his plate right now without Hinata there to confuse him. “We’re moving.”

“Moving? Like, what, we’re going to a different town?”

“Where _else_ would we be going,” he mumbled, not a question so much as a reflex, and once finished unhooking the top, slid down the side the way Tsukishima had. Hinata looked impressed by the movement. Tobio was vividly reminded that he was expected to partner with Hinata—that was, if Hinata chose to stay.

“So then where are we going now?” he continued. Now that he was preoccupied with the excitement of relocating, he couldn’t seem to be bothered with their apparent rivalry. Hinata had been like that recently, talking to Tobio like they’d been friends for years, wishing him happy birthday, inviting him to go on a walk, touching hands like that was a normal thing for them. It was _confusing_ , and Tobio hated it.

“We haven’t decided yet,” he answered, and entered the tent with the hope that Hinata maybe wouldn’t follow. He was wrong ,of course, and distracted himself by stacking chairs.

Hinata watched him for a moment. “Hey, Kageyama?”

“What.” _Leave me alone, I don’t want to talk right now, you’re confusing me, go away…_

“When did you join Karasuno?”

The question did its job getting him to pause. Tobio folded another chair and put it on the others. He waited to hear it _click_ before he opened his mouth. “A while ago.”

“Your while or my while?”

Tobio wasn’t looking at the other, but he could imagine him, blinking with that innocent expression of his, no idea what his kind of curiosity did to others. He wasn’t malicious and—despite what Tobio so often said—he wasn’t stupid. He was just curious and sometimes too blunt. Tobio swallowed. “Your while.”

“Oh.” There was no disappointment or excitement in that response. Just _oh_. “How many years have you lived here?”

“Nine.”

Tobio heard Hinata moving around the tent, not helping pack chairs but not messing with anything either. “What was it like when you first got here?”

“Why do you want to know?” Tobio wasn’t actually upset by the question. The response was just habit, empty in its threat.

The redhead shrugged. “I just do. I guess I’ve just been thinking about what Suga and Daichi told us yesterday…”

Ah, so there it was. He’d heard the others’ lives and wanted to know Tobio’s now for no reason other than curiosity. Hinata wasn’t intentionally malicious, but Tobio felt his jaw clench anyway. He stood up straight. “Right.”

Hinata frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But he slammed a folded chair into the stack a little too hard. To take away from that, he barked, “Are you actually going to _help_ me or are you just going to stand there all day like an idiot?”

The redhead bristled. “Stop calling me an idiot, jerk,” but he moved to the other side of the tent and started grabbing chairs.

They cleaned up for a while in silence. Why Hinata was still there in the first place, Tobio wasn’t sure. He could’ve helped Yachi with transferring the animals or Yamaguchi and Shimizu set up to apport. It didn’t make sense that he’d chosen to put up with Tobio when he clearly had other friends here who could’ve kept him company. Tobio could chalk the night before up to the time—you could never hold someone accountable for something they did in the early, sleep-deprived hours of the morning—and the fact that Tobio was the only other person awake. He could even say that the birthday thing was just Hinata’s ignorance. This, however, had no basis for explanation, no reason for being. They existed calmly in the same space for the next half hour.

It wasn’t until they were finished loading the stacks of chairs onto a cart to take to the trucks that Hinata spoke again. “You never answered.”

_Because I didn’t want to_. But Tobio didn’t say this.

Hinata looked exceptionally small next to the mountains of chairs, and they silently agreed to push the cart together. He caught on to Tobio’s reluctance to answer and thankfully didn’t push the topic again. The cart’s wheels bounced over a hole in the asphalt. They didn’t speak.

Tobio was not an especially talkative person, but he felt himself itch to say something. Worse than wanting to was that he didn’t even _have_ anything to say. He just wanted to talk for the sake of talking, maybe to get Hinata to stop acting so weird, start in an argument or something so this whatever-it-was would stop floating around them—or, rather, _him_ because he had no idea if Hinata had the same problem. As far as he knew, he was nervous over something that wasn’t there in the first place.

His tongue felt heavier the more he scrambled for a topic of conversation, something away from the territory of Him and His Life, capitals necessary. _How are you doing_ seemed like an all right option but carried all the wrong connotations and had the potential to turn bad. A million other starters came to mind, but his mouth stayed shut. What was it like being kidnapped? What do you think will happen to Karasuno? Do you still trust them? Which is better: running away _from_ your home or running away _with_ your home? Do you feel like this? Does it hurt? Are you scared? Should we be scared? Do you think about me? Am I stupid to think about you?

When Tobio looked over, Hinata’s nails were digging into the handle of the cart—except they weren’t nails anymore but claws, and they were scraping the wood with alarming force. Tobio knew about this, this accidental shifting, but he had forgotten that Hinata, even though he’d shifted completely, still had little control over. Hinata noticed it before Tobio could force his voice to work.

“Ah, shit!” He yanked his hands away like the handle was on fire, his claws ripping harshly from the wood. They were halfway across the fair grounds, towards the trucks that were waiting at the entrance of the lot; Hinata had stopped in his tracks in his surprise. He cradled one clawed hand in the other like he was protecting them from something. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He forced a laugh.

Tobio avoided his eyes. Watching Hinata shift back felt invasive somehow, maybe because the shifting hadn’t be intentional and yet flashed such a clear sign about him to everyone else, like loudly declaring _I’m scared out of my mind_ or _I’m stressed out_ or _I’m so depressed I don’t know what to do with myself_. Shifting purposefully was different, was a show; this was a moment of vulnerability. And not one Tobio had been invited to see. So he looked away.

“Whatever,” he said. Do you feel like this? Does it hurt? Are you scared? “Let’s just finish what we’re doing.”

Should we be scared?

 

\--

 

Yamaguchi, Yachi, and Shimizu took them to a town about ten hours over by car, but the trip only took a few minutes apporting. Of course the farmhouse came with them, as was usual, and they spent the next twenty-four hours setting everything up again. That was Tobio’s least favorite part of relocating, busting his ass for a full day only to bust it again the next. But it was necessary.

And it became clearer and clearer that it was necessary as the days passed. They had started off traveling the country (and eventually surrounding countries) in a set order, picking out which city they would be staying in next based on where they were geographically—but with their unofficial running away, they had chosen one at random, and so ended up much further away than normal. Even then, people recognized them, and not as just the circus, but the circus that had been attacked only a week earlier.

A terrorist attack, they were calling it. To humans, it had looked like dozens of assailants, and Suga hadn’t seemed keen on correcting them that it was really only three strong ones. Karasuno had been very meticulous about not revealing any information about who exactly had attacked, so the public was left to speculate on their own. Some believed it was a kind of anti-monster-organization, a crime born from prejudice and hate; some, the opposite, a vagabond group advocating for monsters who believed Karasuno was unethical or violating the members’ rights; and some a personal grudge. Nothing more, nothing less.

Karasuno had a niche following of fans, small enough to keep them safe in public and large enough to earn them fan pages. The night after the event aired on the news, Tobio had checked any and all pages he could find, scrolling through forums out of curiosity and paranoia (he reassured himself in knowing that Sugawara and Daichi would definitely do the same thing, had they not already). Most of the comments were speculative but supporting, trusting that Karasuno would be okay but angry that it had happened in the first place. A few were less so. “Wouldn’t they come out with a statement themselves? Unless, of course, if they had something to hide.”

It was no doubt just some kid trying to play detective, but Tobio noticed the way it had affected their leaders. Daichi was already worried enough as it was about appearances; they didn’t need any added attention.

Most opening nights they pushed a full house, selling out within an hour or two. But this time, they were lucky if they got half. It was the same show they’d been interrupted performing on New Years. The locals must have known that, or at least thought it bad luck to go somewhere with such unfortunate history.

Daichi, Suga, and Asahi were still shaken up. The rest of Karasuno took pity on them and started pitching in where they wouldn’t normally have to, Yachi helping with doing the finances where it had mostly been Sugawara and Shimizu’s job, Saeko stepping up during shows and helping the boys with their performances. Even Hinata, the most oblivious of all of them, had caught on and started taking care of the animals while Yachi was helping Shimizu.

Everything was a mess.

It wasn’t even a full week after they’d officially relocated when their next crisis took place. Ever since Hinata had shifted on command for Nishinoya, he’d been doing it more and more often, either on request of the others or simply because he was reckless. Tobio wasn’t there to see it when it happened, but he was the first one Yachi ran to find.

“Hinata’s stuck!” she squeaked, the doorway to the gym banging against the wall from how hard she’d thrown it open. At first Tobio thought she meant Hinata had crawled into something or had gotten locked into the attic or something else equally as stupid. But Yachi was waving her arms around frantically, explaining so quickly that Tobio only caught a few words, like _shifted_ and _Bennu_ and _help_.

Tobio had been so focused on her frenzied explanation when she first came in that he failed to notice the phoenix that had followed her inside the gym. That made sense as far as why she’d mentioned Bennu, considering that was what she’d dubbed Karasuno’s one and only still-living phoenix. The bird had perched itself on the edge of one of the glass cases that held masks from previous shows, but it fluttered down from its perch and to the floor with a frantic inelegance that mirrored Yachi’s perfectly.

“Yachi, first off,” he said, “calm down.”

The blonde shut her mouth as quickly as she’d opened it, nodding at him with wide eyes. The bird, however, did not agree with this idea, and instead squawked indignantly at Tobio as if he were the cause of Yachi’s problem—whatever it was. He ignored it and turned back to Yachi. “What’s going on?”

“Hinata’s stuck!” she said again, which was just as confusing the second time. “We—we were working with the animals and, uh, he’s been doing this thing recently to help him with his shifting where he’ll mimic one of the animals, but he…” Her eyes began to water, and the phoenix squawked at Tobio louder.

Realization dawned on him. “Oh my god.”

Yachi wiped away stray tears quickly, like she was embarrassed for Tobio to see her crying over this. She nodded in agreement. “I don’t know what to do, he tried to turn back but it wouldn’t work, and—“

“Have you gotten Daichi yet?”

She shook her head regretfully. “The gym was closest, and I panicked and came here first instead…”

Hinata, in that form, bounced more than he walked. He did this until he was weaving between Yachi’s legs, nudging her ankles with his beak gently in comfort. Tobio couldn’t imagine what it must have been like unable to communicate verbally while shifting, but Hinata seemed to manage fine. He relied so much on body language and touch already that it only put a slight dent in his social life. Yachi smiled gently at Hinata, but she was still sniffling.

“We need to tell Daichi first then,” Tobio said because he had little else idea how to help. “Yamaguchi might know what to do too, so…it might be good to talk to him.”

Yachi, forever a saint, didn’t comment on how awkward he’d sounded. She took a deep breath and nodded, turning around towards the door to leave and find someone who might actually be able to help—but stopped with her hand on the door handle.

“Can you…come with me?”

 

\--

 

Tobio had no desire to babysit Hinata, but he had failed to make this clear to Yachi in light of her asking. It was difficult to say no to the witch, especially when she was on the verge of another anxiety attack.

Daichi hadn’t been able to turn Hinata back, and neither had Yamaguchi. The only advice either of them had given Yachi and Hinata was to make sure someone was with him at all times. This was for two reasons: one, so Hinata wouldn’t get hurt; and two, in case something drastic happened and he started becoming more animalistic. Yamaguchi had heard of it happening with shifting-type monsters before; if they stayed shifted too long or if they pushed themselves to shift when they weren’t ready, their cognitive function would start receding. Eventually they would lose any and all memories of being a person. Within a few weeks—sometimes as soon as only one—they would effectively be that animal. Hinata wasn’t the happiest with this news. Had birds been able to cry, Tobio was sure he would’ve, if only from stress.

(Tobio didn’t like admitting that he’d noticed that about the other—that Hinata cried more often than not, when he was scared or tired or stressed or angry or sad. Just like his shifting, tears were a product of too much emotion for him, too many feelings in one tiny body. It seemed even tinier now; phoenixes were large in comparison with most other birds, but in next to everything else Hinata seemed so _small_.)

Yamaguchi, Yachi, and Shimizu dove into research to find a cure, or at the very least a way to coach Hinata into coming undone himself. Were it a physical thing, they could do nothing but pray there was a spell that dealt with accidental permanent shiftings. Were it only a mental block, Hinata might have been able to change back on his own with time. For Hinata’s sake, they hoped it was mental.

While Karasuno’s witches were distracted with research, Tobio was stuck watching the shapeshifter. He wasn’t happy with this by any means—how was he supposed to _avoid_ Hinata if Tobio was essentially babysitting him?—but Hinata wasn’t all too thrilled about the arrangement either. Without the redhead there to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, Tobio had difficulty sitting in the same room as him. They would be in Tobio’s room, Hinata nestled into the space in Tobio’s bookshelf between _Dante’s Inferno_ and a cookbook Sugawara had bought for him four years ago, when Tobio’s tongue would itch and he’d hurt with the want to say something, anything, even if it was pointless, even if it was stupid. Avoiding hadn’t worked; _not_ avoiding hadn’t worked. No matter what, his mouth still itched, his chest still hurt, he still wanted to speak. That was stupid of him, he knew, but it didn’t stop his knee from twitching towards the door like he was planning an escape route.

Hinata was still settled between the books, pretending to fall asleep so Tobio wouldn’t realize he was watching him work.

“I can’t concentrate if you’re looking at me,” he said, half because it was true and half because not saying something was killing him. Hinata couldn’t speak, but he cawed in response. A phoenix’s caw was an unprecedented hybrid between a dove and a hawk, so contradictory in its existence that it made perfect sense for Hinata. The response had sounded enough like a complaint for Kageyama to roll his eyes.

Bored, Hinata gave up his charade and hopped off the bookshelf onto the floor. The room wasn’t large enough for him to fly so he had to hop to Tobio’s desk where he sat on the floor and squawked. Tobio winced.

“I’m busy, what do you want?”

Hinata made smaller trilling noises, not committed enough to be a full caw, and took the chance of flying onto the desk. His wings were too large, and in the process of getting where he wanted ended up knocking a glass and two books off Tobio’s desk. The glass didn’t break but he swore anyway.

“I told you I’m _busy_ ,” he grumbled, but Hinata was already settled on the desk with his wings tucked under him and the orange plum on top of his head sticking up happily. He made a noise that Tobio interrupted as _you weren’t even getting any work done!_ But that might have just been Tobio projecting.

At any rate, it was true that he hadn’t been able to concentrate for the past half-hour he’d feigned working. Most of the younger members of Karasuno had what would be considered homeschooling (Daichi was surprisingly strict about it when he could be). But with the way things had been recently, no one had been particularly worried about whether or not Tobio knew the first four rows of the periodic table. He almost wished they were. Any distraction was good enough for him, even if it was schoolwork.

Hinata only had to take a step or two before he was covering Tobio’s book completely. He made that trilling noise again, more insistent this time.

“I can’t understand you, dumbass.”

If birds were capable of looking annoyed, Hinata did. He cawed once.

Tobio huffed, pushing his chair back to stand up. “You _know_ I can’t understand you, there’s no point in yelling at me. What, you want to leave?” He opened his bedroom door, gesturing towards the hallway irritably.

Hinata fluttered to the ground from his desk with as much grace as one could have when they’d been flying for a day and a half. He trotted to the door, but stopped when it became clear Tobio wasn’t following. They stared each other down for a good few moments before Tobio relented. It was somehow even more uncomfortable to hold eye contact with Hinata when he was in this form.

The shapeshifter led them through the house, bouncing ridiculously as he went. They found a stressed Yamaguchi in the kitchen, a laptop on the table in front of him with a hand tugging through his hair. He paused what he was doing when he saw them, offering a wobbly smile. He’d somehow gotten it into his head that it was his fault that Hinata was possibly stuck like this permanently, probably because he was the one coaching Hinata.

Tobio stood to the side and watched as they interacted. Conversations were strange when there wasn’t Hinata’s insistent chatter to move the exchange forward; Yamaguchi’s only queues were Hinata’s little trills and the ruffling of his feathers.

“I haven’t found anything yet,” he said apologetically. “But Shimizu and Yachi are in town right now to see if any of the locals know anything about it. There are a few witch-run businesses around they’re going to try out.”

Hinata didn’t try to get on the table the way he’d done with Tobio, but he nudged Yamaguchi’s leg, letting him know he was forgiven.

“On the bright side, I don’t think it’s going to be forever. Before you got here, Tsukki had a lot of visions about you, but you haven’t done any of the things he saw yet so I don’t think there’s much of a chance of you staying like this permanently. How soon we can turn you back, though…” He bit his lip.

“Has Suga mentioned anything about it?” Tobio asked.

“Not much.” Yamaguchi frowned. “You know how it’s been with everything…”

That was code for _we can’t force more on his plate_. Hinata couldn’t have chosen a worse time to get stuck like this. “Right. Of course.”

“Anyway, Kageyama,” Yamaguchi glanced at Hinata where he was still at his feet, “if you want me to I can look after him right now. I’m just doing research until Shimizu and Yachi come back, so…”

He should’ve wanted to agree to that immediately, thank Yamaguchi and wipe his hands clean of the other boy for as long as he could. In the end, he did with a small nod and a retreat back upstairs, but it wasn’t what he wanted to say. His tongue still felt heavy.

 

\--

 

Shouyou had gotten used to being unable to respond to people. Although he would’ve preferred to speak, his situation with Kenma had given him practice so it was only a _little_ horrible being stuck in an animal’s body for so long.

The more pressing matter was that Shouyou, after three days, was _still stuck_. Shimizu and Hitoka found a spell for undoing transformations from one of the witches in town; it had originally been for magic-related incidents, but they figured it was close enough to be worth a try. Despite their efforts, it didn’t work, which—according to Shimizu—meant that whatever was keeping him this way was mental instead of physical. When they talked to Sugawara about it, he said that it made sense enough.

“Your body has been under immense amounts of stress,” he explained, “and you’re still recovering from a recent traumatic event. It’s no wonder you overdid yourself. I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did before this happened.”

Which was the worst part of it all, really. How was Shouyou supposed to turn himself back? He’d tried a million times already, and yet apparently the responsibility was his and his alone. The only thing anyone else could really do was give him moral support and make sure he wasn’t left alone.

Shouyou wanted to ask Kenma what he should do, what phrase or line of thought would finally let him shift back. Kenma knew everything as far as Shouyou was concerned—but the ghost had been distant, even more so than before, since their talk with Daichi and Sugawara. After Daichi and Kenma had talked and Shouyou was safely back in his own body, Kenma had been deathly silent all the way up until that night. Even then, all he’d done was sit in front of the window, wrap his arms around his knees, and thank Shouyou.

Before they’d left the orphanage, Shouyou had had moments—long moments, often moments, normal moments—where he would forget that Kenma was dead in the first place. The ghost would smile just a little or make a horrible joke that had Shouyou trying to hide his laughter or wrinkle his nose at a pair of shoes someone was wearing, and it would become exceedingly difficult for Shouyou to believe that this boy was no longer a part of the living.

He hadn’t had a moment like that in a long time.

The third most pressing—and somehow most seemingly trivial—of Shouyou’s problems was Kageyama, because Shouyou was used to the vampire being a total asshole and had even been prepared for him to make fun of Shouyou’s inability to shift. When Shouyou first got here, that would’ve been Kageyama’s immediate response to the crisis; how ironic that the boy who couldn’t shift was now unable to shift _back._ And Shouyou would’ve gotten pissed and it would have escalated into an argument, were Shouyou able to speak.

However, Shouyou _wasn’t_ able to speak, and most importantly Kageyama was not making light of the situation, wasn’t even a little bit smug about it. The worst he’d done was grumble complaints when Sugawara insisted that he watch Shouyou but even that had been kept to a minimum. Shouyou didn’t understand what the change in heart was, why Kageyama was acting so much better towards him now—indulging Shouyou when he’d asked about Kageyama’s siblings, going on a walk with him to see Orthrus despite not liking animals, and now, taking Shouyou’s situation in stride and not even making _one_ snide comment about it? It was a miracle if Shouyou had ever seen one.

(Not that he was complaining. It was a pleasant change, if a confusing one. Shouyou had been struck with so many changes the past month and a half, ninety-nine percent of which weren’t good, that a few nice things every now and then were appreciated.)

Expectedly, Shouyou’s inability to speak had gotten everyone’s attention the most. Shouyou didn’t like to think he was obnoxious, but he would admit that he was loud, and he enjoyed conversation. His sudden, forced silence had an impact.

One of which was that to some of them it was now easier to talk to him. Shouyou figured that was because it felt like speaking to nobody, the words sure to hear no one’s ears but Shouyou’s, and at the time being Shouyou couldn’t respond. Yamaguchi was like that; he spoke more to Shouyou after he got over his initial weirdness with holding a one-sided conversation, telling stories about Tsukishima and Hitoka and spells that he’d recently been trying to master. Shouyou didn’t have much else to do while he was like this, and so was an excellent listener.

Daichi knew that Kageyama and Shouyou didn’t particularly get along (did they?), and therefore put Kageyama on Shouyou-watching duty very little—but the few times he did, Shouyou found himself wishing he could speak again. Kageyama was quiet, much quieter than anyone else when it was just the two of them. Normally, Shouyou would’ve coaxed conversation out of him, spouting nonsense into the quiet until the other opened up or started an argument, but now that he was unable to do that they had to sit with nothing between them.

The fourth day that Shouyou woke up in this body—groggy, irritated, finally getting used to this form—the vampire seemed to reach his limit. They were in the living room downstairs, everyone else out in the city (passing out fliers for their show this weekend in hopes that they would finally attract an audience) or training in the gym. Kageyama sat on the couch with a computer in his lap and a frown plastered on like normal. Shouyou was resting on the hearth, close enough to the fireplace to keep warm.

Kageyama’s fingers stopped clicking on the keyboard, and he turned the frown towards Shouyou. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to warm yourself?”

It was true that this form was a firebird and that Shouyou was sitting near the fireplace less for actual warmth and more for the sake of something to do, but he still opened his mouth for a comeback. All that came out was an irritated caw.

Kageyama rolled his eyes like he’d understood Shouyou, turning back to his laptop screen and filling the silence with his typing. Shouyou got up from the fireplace and made towards the couch, curious to what the other was doing. He didn’t bother trying to fly like he had the first couple of days; two broken lamps and a shattered mug later, he’d learned his lesson.

He cawed again, hoping his question of “what are you doing?” would come across in the noise. It must have. Kageyama stopped typing to lower the screen so Shouyou couldn’t see what he was up to. “No.”

Shouyou hadn’t even said anything! He fluttered his wings defensively.

“No,” Kageyama said again. “I already told you I can’t get work done if you’re watching me.”

_What kind of work is there even to DO?_ He hopped in place, annoyed that he couldn’t ask. He wished that Kenma was here, not for the first time, just so he could have someone else to interact with. But the ghost was up in their shared room, probably sitting with a half-finished book in front of the window.

Kageyama went back his “work,” succeeding in ignoring Shouyou for all of fifteen minutes before he gave up and snapped the computer closed in irritation. He huffed, standing up, but Shouyou squawked and reached to snag the back of his shirt. He wasn’t supposed to be left alone and as annoying as that rule was, Yamaguchi’s warning had scared him into believing in its necessity. He’d felt what it was like to be outside of your own body for too long before, like the moments when you’ve first woken up from a bizarre dream, and now worried that it would happen again and he’d _really_ be stuck this way.

“I’m just putting my laptop in my room, calm down.” Kageyama swatted him away, and Shouyou reluctantly let go of the hem of his shirt. He did his best to scowl—although how well that transferred to his expression, he wasn’t sure—and bounced after Kageyama.

It wasn’t until they were in his room, computer tossed haphazardly onto his bed, that Kageyama bothered to speak. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

Shouyou didn’t caw or squawk or trill this time. He ignored the statement, because it was stupid anyway (of _course_ he didn’t _have_ to follow Kageyama, but he chose to), and instead took in the room. He’d been in here one other time, two days ago, and he was still getting used to it. To him, it was always weird to see other people’s bedrooms, a place that was uniquely theirs, made for them and them only. Seeing Kageyama’s was even weirder, a glimpse into something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to see. He’d gotten a few of those before: Kageyama’s birthday, the New Year’s party, Orthrus.

When it became clear Shouyou wasn’t going to acknowledge the statement, Kageyama asked, “Are you really that worried about what Yamaguchi said?”

Shouyou didn’t respond to this either. He hopped onto the desk’s chair, one of the fancy ones with the wheels on the bottom, and the force of his landing caused the chair to roll across the floor. It all but tapped Kageyama, and he put his hands on the chair’s back to stop it. “You really don’t know if you’re going to turn back.”

Shouyou cawed, but it came out less forceful than he wanted it to.

“There’s a chance you could be stuck like this. For the rest of your life.”

_I know_ , he wanted to say, or maybe _I doubt it._ Shouyou would find a way to undo whatever this was, he knew, it would just take a while.

“Does that scare you?”

No. Yes. Sort of. Of course. Why wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it scare you too?

Kageyama frowned at him and finally stepped away from the chair. It was a small room, and his knees hit the back of his bed. He sat down, still watching Shouyou. This was a different Kageyama than Shouyou had seen before, he realized. Or at the very least not one he’d seen very often.

“You asked me a while ago if I have any siblings,” he said, “and I said I had a brother.”

_Yes, I remember_. Shouyou hadn’t thought much about it at the time outside of his shock that Kageyama had opened up to him in the first place. He got up from the chair, leaving it spinning after he jumped back to the ground. The other watched him bounce towards the bed, but he didn’t get up on it, only staying on the floor as he waited for Kageyama to continue.

“I lied to you.” Kageyama frowned distantly. “Sort of. He…we were raised like brothers, so I call him that when people ask. But it’s a half lie.”

It took Shouyou a moment, but it dawned on him that this was Kageyama making up for the moments of unreciprocated vulnerability. Shouyou had never had qualms with sharing with others, with letting people know how he felt, and had on more than one occasion shared those moments with Kageyama—for reasons he wasn’t even sure of. Maybe as a proposition for a truce, maybe because he was a boy of impulse, maybe because he wanted to. But despite the reason, Kageyama had taken notice of them and was making up for it now in this forced silence.

Shouyou wanted to say _tell me more_ , wanted to ask that he never stop talking, _I want to know more about you_. He made a noise that was distinctly more dove than hawk, hoping it was enough to encourage Kageyama to continue. Maybe Shouyou’s lack of verbal response would have the same effect on Kageyama that it had on Yamaguchi.

It must have worked. “He’s still alive.”

Question: Why isn’t he with you?

Kageyama seemed to realize that he had stopped talking in favor of looking at the ceiling. He frowned at it like it was responsible for his spacing out, shook his head, and didn’t continue.

Shouyou watched him, hoped it wasn’t obvious he was staring, moved closer towards the bed like he was getting ready to jump onto it. Do you keep in touch? Do you miss him? Was he your best friend? Would you die for him? Why do you sound so sad? Why do you look so sad?

“Whatever,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in a long time, so I guess he could’ve died and I wouldn’t have a way of knowing.” He looked distant in the same way Kenma did. “Another half-lie.”

Shouyou was struck once again with the desire to ask about Kageyama’s scar. It was a shame he couldn’t; right now, Kageyama probably would’ve told him.

 

\--

 

Shouyou woke the next morning in his own body.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (reminder that this fic is looking more like 20-25 chapters and not 15. we just havent change the chapter number yet b/c we're still trying to gauge how long thisll be) 
> 
> comments r always 100% appreciated!!!


	11. remember the moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think you’ll find an old friend of ours has been pretty busy the past few years.”
> 
> \--
> 
> kuroo is the anger man, these r his anger hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnndddddd three weeks later, we return with chapter 11, also known as "why r there so many vampires in this fic"
> 
> we're both super duper sorry about how long this wait was, especially since....lmao chp 10 took just as long. but!!! simones been out of school for nearly a week now and gray gets out this tuesday so we'll (hopefully) have more time to write and there4 quicker updates!! (no promises tho, b/c simones doing an internship rn and gray will be attending a writing camp in june.........but anyway)
> 
> there is, unfortunately, no kagehina in this chap :'( but more character introductions, so hopefully thats a good enough trade off!!
> 
> **chapter TWs** (nothing worse than usual but jic): mild blood drinking at the beginning, mentions of death (kenma's) at the end. oh also hitmen and petty theft is mentioned a little bit

Aoba Johsai’s mansion was located at the top of a mountain overlooking the ocean, jagged rocks beneath in a makeshift kingdom. The mansion was tall and looming, with dark sea blue exterior and interior to match, startlingly stylish for a building so old; the cobblestone was ancient and worn and somehow even prettier for it. Every room was decorated in stark contrast of old and new, two different worlds combining into one four-story home, elevators juxtaposing worn-down marble stairwells, gaping ceilings and power outlets and a fire oven. The mansion was more of a castle than anything, although to call it such was, in Iwaizumi Hajime’s opinion, a proud thing to do.

Oikawa Tooru, however, was a proud man and had no such qualms with calling it that, albeit mostly jokingly. He’d call it _my castle,_ refer to it like that when retreating from missions and raids, flipping an award-winning and putridly fake smile. Hajime didn’t like it, but he had voiced this opinion so often as it was to no avail that he eventually gave up.

The inside of Oikawa’s office-slash-bedroom (and Hajime said that because it may as well have doubled as both with how often he found his boss asleep at his desk, passed out from exhaustion with bags under his eyes, pale from forgetting to feed, snoring with heavy sleep) was maybe the most “castle” part of the whole mansion. The ceiling seemed to go on for miles. To the left of the entrance, the fireplace stretched almost the entire length of the room, large enough to fit half the members of Aoba Johsai on its hearth with ease. The walls were decorated in old suits of armor, left over from Oikawa’s father’s collection over a decade ago, tapestries lined up next to them. Fairy wings hung above his desk, gorgon’s hair strapped to a shield on the back of the door, and on the window—large and impressive—were various bottles. Phoenix blood, dragonfly breath, unicorn hair; Hajime had forgotten every impressive oddity Oikawa kept locked in his office-turned-bedroom.

When Hajime entered, Oikawa was seated next to the fireplace in a robe made of manticore fur, his feet tucked under him, his arms pulled to his chest protectively. Hajime had seen him like this very few other times, and so allowed himself a moment of surprise before he straightened up.

“You wanted to speak with me?” he said, but his voice didn’t turn into a question at the end. Oikawa ushered him from the doorway, motioning to close the door behind him.

“There’s no reason to be so formal, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa looked tired, but he smiled brightly as usual. It was _less_ usual for it to look so genuine as it did now; Oikawa was very good at faking happiness, but Hajime could always tell when he was lying. For whatever reason, Oikawa was telling the truth right now.

Their pretense of formality gone, Hajime rolled his eyes and locked the door behind him. He didn’t sit next to Oikawa, but he stood near the hearth with his arms crossed loosely, waiting to hear what the reason for his summoning was. It wasn’t uncommon for Oikawa to call him to his study—or, for that matter, for Hajime to come uninvited—but it _was_ uncommon for Oikawa to sound so urgent about it. To find him curled up near the fire was not what Hajime had been expecting.

“Have you read the news lately?” Oikawa asked. He stretched his arms above his head as he waited for the other to respond, the robe’s fabric shifting as he moved. It pulled down his arm and showed an expanse of milky white skin—paler than it should have been. Hajime frowned.

“You haven’t been feeding,” he accused.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, your Majesty, I have not been reading the news lately.” The _your Majesty_ was purely sarcastic. Oikawa Tooru was no one’s king and certainly not Hajime’s, but he was close enough that the joke was one he had carried with him. If Oikawa was going to act like a king, Hajime was going to treat him as such.

“Shame.” Oikawa stood up from his seat next to the hearth, his robe swaying as he did. Hajime followed him quietly to the other side of the room, where he stopped at his desk. “You haven’t heard of the raid that took place a week ago?”

Hajime didn’t keep up with newspapers, but he had certainly heard some locals whispering about it in the Dollar General a couple miles into town. The raid had been a big deal when the news first got out, not only because of the odd circumstances surrounding it (“Hundreds of accomplices,” people said, “a man interrupted mid-show, pretending to be an audience member”) but also because of the nature of it. A circus made exclusively of monsters being attacked by another monster; for the humans, it was a perfect opportunity to drag them down more. _Those savage people, attacking their own kind so violently._

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Hajime answered hesitantly. Oikawa’s face was viciously pale against the backdrop of the dim light. “But unless this has anything to do with you feeding, I don’t want to know.”

“You will once you hear who I found involved.”

Hajime understandably had his interest piqued at that—but he was a stubborn man if nothing. “No. Not until you feed.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whined.

“No.”

“Do _you_ want to be the one to go all the way to the kitchen and get me something?” The vampire crossed his arms over his chest with a pout, looking more and more like a little kid and less like the eighty-eight year old he really was. It was an annoyingly good point, though; their mansion had four floors and the kitchen was on the first, while Oikawa’s office resided on the third. That was part of the reason Oikawa fed so little. He already barely left his study—if he had to leave it for feeding as well, he might have gone crazy.

Hajime wasn’t much better as far as overworking went, but he had to say he worried about the other.

“You can drink from me.”

“Absolutely not.”

It was a petulant refusal, and Oikawa knew it. “Oikawa.”

“Iwa-chan, no. I am _not_ feeding from you.”

Hajime felt himself growing more impatient. “And why not?”

There wasn’t a response, but Hajime knew what the answer was anyway. _Because I don’t want to hurt you like last time_ was no doubt the answer Oikawa was biting his lip to keep from giving. It was a stupid if not earned fear that Hajime had been working to get rid of for years now.

“You’re feeding from me and that’s final.” Before Oikawa could protest anymore, Hajime grabbed the letter opener off the desk and drew a dark line down his forearm. It was a messy technique, and he knew it would be difficult to drink from such a shallow, jagged wound, but it was better than nothing. The current goal was just to get blood into Oikawa before he went crazy from hunger, or worse.

Hajime felt the other’s pulse quicken at the sight. Spirit blood didn’t taste nearly as good as other species’—partly because they existed somewhere between the physical plane instead of on it, able to switch in and out as they pleased, the same way fairies or nymphs could—but in Oikawa’s current state of almost-starvation, it was no doubt that any blood smelled like ambrosia to him. He licked his lips, his eyes following Hajime’s forearm as he raised it to meet the other.

“Feed,” Hajime instructed, and he saw Oikawa swallow, “and then we’ll talk about the raid.”

It was a true test to how hungry Oikawa actually was that he only hesitated a moment longer before bringing his head down and sucking up the blood that had welled from Hajime’s wound. It was an odd feeling, one Hajime didn’t like (it reminded him too much, too much of last time, of lightheadedness and near death, of feeling his body grow weaker and forcing Oikawa off of him, of knowing his blood was being drained past the point of life and yet being unable to stop it) but he could deal with it. Hajime didn’t often admit it to the other, but he cared about Oikawa more than a subordinate probably should have.

(But then again, he did a lot of things a subordinate should not have. Example: letting his boss feed from him. Example: caring so deeply for his boss. Example: falling in love with his boss. Example, example, example. There were so many Hajime couldn’t keep up with them.)

Oikawa didn’t drink Hajime dry the way his traitorous heartbeat was convinced he would. He pulled away just shy of Hajime feeling lightheaded, wiping excess blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, the red smeared across his cheek. Oikawa always looked particularly disheveled after feeding directly from the source, which might have been why Hajime liked watching it so much; Oikawa was always immaculate, straight white teeth and a charming smile, always so falsely, viciously perfect. To see him as anything else was a privilege that Hajime wanted to have for as long as Oikawa would allow him.

Once the vampire was sufficiently fed and no longer pale as death, he pulled open his desk’s drawer and shuffled around, explaining as he searched for whatever it was he was looking for. The inside of his desk expanded to Oikawa’s will, but he had kept it large for a long time for lack of anywhere else to put things. Unfortunately, it backfired on occasion.

“You’ve heard of the raid,” he said, “but have you heard of who led the raid? Or, for that matter, who it was on?”

“A circus.” Hajime raised an eyebrow. “What about that has you so excited?”

“Do you know which circus? Ahah!” The last part was directed at his drawer, where he finally pulled out a stack of newspaper clippings, all bundled together like in detective shows. They were circled and annotated all in red sharpie. Hajime took them from Oikawa’s hands hesitantly.

“No,” he answered. “What’s this all about? Why are you suddenly so interested in the circus?” It was an odd thought that Oikawa would take interest in such a thing, considering the fact that few things kept his attention and never for very long. It was a surprise that manticore robe wasn’t being sold as they spoke.

“I’m not interested _in_ the circus, I’m interested in _who’s_ _in it_.” He gestured grandly to the clippings. “Read through them.”

“Why?”

The moment Hajime asked, he got a bad feeling about the answer. Oikawa smiled, a slow, stretching thing that was as gruesome as it was handsome. “I think you’ll find an old friend of ours has been pretty busy the past few years.”

 

\--

 

“Was it weird?”

“I mean,” Shouyou scratched the back of his neck, “yeah, I guess? Except—not really, ‘cause shifting is supposed to feel natural to me, so for the first, like, two days it was fine, but then it started feeling…wrong. I guess since I wasn’t meant to stay like that. I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

Sugawara frowned and stirred his coffee with a wooden spoon. They had very little silver things in Karasuno’s kitchen, but the reason for it was unclear. “Hmm.”

From where Kenma was sitting on the floor with his back against the cabinet, he gave Shouyou a look. Suga’s _hmm_ was often the precedent of bad news, anything from _we’re out of laundry detergent_ to _we can’t stay here._ Shouyou shared this concerned look with his ghost and waited for the bomb, whatever size it may have been, to drop.

“You probably know this already,” Suga was still stirring his coffee, “but there’s pretty little known about shapeshifters. Since they’re—uh, _you’re_ so rare, the research done about you isn’t nearly as in-depth as it is with other monster types. Most of what people know is based off of rumors and urban legends. Whether or not it’s true that you can lift four times your body weight or put people to sleep with your voice isn’t something we can know for sure right now. But…”

“But?”

“But I think it’s safe to say that there’s more you can do than just shift. I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure shifting, like you said, is _always_ supposed to feel natural, and I’m not one-hundred percent positive you getting trapped in one form against your will is something that even happens. You could be the first one to have that happen to you for all we know.”

Shouyou blinked. “So, what, I’m the first idiot to get himself stuck like that?”

“That…” Suga glanced in general proximity of Kenma. “Isn’t what I meant.”

Kenma stood up from where he’d been sitting and came to stand next to Shouyou, who was leaning against the sink with Sugawara to his left. Despite being nearly five P.M., they were the only two bustling around in the kitchen. Everyone else was either training or in “class” with Daichi; in two hours, dinner would be ready, and the room would be filled with chatter and white noise and laughter. But for now, it was just the three of them: one ghost, one undead, one chameleon.

It had only been that morning that Shouyou woke up in his own body again, to his and everyone else’s surprise. The reason for his sudden undoing was unclear, but Shouyou couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with the conversation with Kageyama.

“Kenma’s next to me,” Shouyou said, nodding towards the witch’s position. That was another thing that had changed that morning: Kenma had left their shared room and was roaming around the house once again, following Shouyou on his daily escapades the way he had before Karasuno and the raid. Sugawara and Daichi had started making an effort to be actively civil towards Kenma, going as far as to direct conversation at him if they knew the ghost was in the room—although, Suga more often than Daichi. Shouyou did his best to help in this exchange, telling them what Kenma said if anything and letting them know where he was in relation to the room. He was trying to get in the habit of periodically updating them on Kenma’s whereabouts, but it was difficult when he still had to pretend Kenma wasn’t there around everyone else.

Eventually, he would tell everyone at Karasuno. But for now, just its founders were enough.

Suga stopped stirring his drink and pulled the spoon out, flicking it once before setting it in the sink. He took a thoughtful sip of his coffee. Why he was having coffee in the afternoon, Shouyou didn’t understand, but Suga had a lot of little quirks like that that Shouyou would never quite get. “Kenma, do you have any ideas on what’s going on with Hinata? Or why it happened, maybe?”

Shouyou turned to Kenma and waited to relay the message. Kenma thought about the question for a good minute, eyes flicking between Suga and a spot on the faucet. He had a habit of avoiding looking directly at Suga and Daichi, even though they couldn’t see him and therefore presented no risk of eye contact.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I think…I think there’s more that we don’t know about shapeshifters. I think he’s showing signs of things we haven’t had the chance to learn about yet. And—some of it’s a mental block.”

Shouyou repeated the response almost word for word, the way he was getting used to doing for Kenma. Suga nodded at the reply, taking another long, pensive sip of his drink. “You’re probably right about that. The issue next is what exactly he’s showing signs of…but I guess we won’t know until it happens. Any other thoughts?”

“He’s important.”

Shouyou opened his mouth to repeat the sentence, but stopped. “What? What do you mean?”

Kenma turned those yellow eyes on him. “I mean you’re important. To everything.”

Another cryptic message to add to the hundreds Kenma had uttered before. It had been a while since Kenma delivered one of those, Shouyou thought. The dead were very good at talking in riddles. “But how do you know that? Ken?”

Suga set his coffee cup down. “What did he say?”

“He just said I’m important.”

The vampire took a moment to absorb the information, but once he had, he sighed, looking down. “Tsukishima said the same thing the night we came back with you.”

“ _What_? And I’m just now hearing about this?!”

“It was a sensitive topic,” Sugawara explained, “and you were new. We didn’t want to overwhelm you or scare you away, especially when you had no home to return to.”

Shouyou probably wouldn’t have been scared away, although _freaked out_ was an accurate description, as that was exactly what he was feeling. Kenma noticed and laid a barely-there hand on Shouyou’s arm. Kenma was never really warm, having no corporeal form, but the more present he was, the less cold he felt. The past couple of weeks had had been almost too cold for Shouyou to touch—but today it was better, enough to withstand. Shouyou accepted the contact gingerly.

“I know because I just do,” Kenma explained quietly. “I don’t know how I do, but I…do.”

Shouyou frowned, but even as he opened his mouth he was already accepting the explanation. “Like how you knew Suga and Daichi were from your other life?”

“Almost.” Kenma squeezed his arm, just a little. “But…clearer.”

“Clearer?”

“It’s more obvious.”

Shouyou didn’t understand how something like that could ever be _obvious_ , but he nodded and let it drop before filling Suga in on the rest of their conversation. Sugawara looked concerned about this new information, his pale fingers tightening around the handle of the mug.

“It made sense that he would recognize me and Daichi from his past life—or, well, his life,” he corrected awkwardly. He and Daichi had switched between alluding to Kenma’s death and avoiding the subject completely, probably afraid it could be taken as rude. Suga composed himself and continued, “But it doesn’t make sense that he would preemptively know something like that about you. Of course anyone can guess, but if he said that he just ‘knew’ then that brings up a whole other issue…”

“’Whole other issues?’” Shouyou frowned. “What issue?”

Suga seemed too lost in thought to response to Shouyou’s curiosity, and instead continued biting his lip while looking thoroughly worried. Whatever the “issue” was, Shouyou knew they didn’t need it. They had enough on their plate already without anything else popping up; between constantly moving around and living with the person they killed, Sugawara, Daichi, and Asahi didn’t need any more stress.

To distract from the topic and hopefully allow Suga some time away from the millions of problems that came with Karasuno, Shouyou straightened up, putting on the best smile he could manage. “Suga-san, can I help you and Asahi make dinner tonight?”

It was just genuine enough that Sugawara blinked, brought out of his thoughts. He let go of his lip; he’d worried it so much that he broke skin. “Oh, um, of course, Hinata. Let’s…” He blinked around the room. “Let’s get Asahi, and then we can start.”

They left the kitchen to find Asahi, but Suga still bit his lip.

 

\--

 

Tetsurou’s parents died when he was eighteen.

As is almost always the case with death, Tetsurou grieved, and he grieved hard. Kenma was hardly any better. His parents abandoned him when he was little, and so Tetsurou’s became his as well; he did not do well with grief, did not do well with losing another set of parents. Kenma’s emotions, ninety percent of the time, were locked tight in his own chest to the point where others thought he didn’t have any. Tetsurou was the only one he opened up to, and now that it truly was just the two of them, he let his grief pour out and tried little to stop it. Tetsurou found him curled in on himself most days, when they could afford it. Since his parents’ death, they had been moving, moving, moving, always moving forward, but every now and then life allowed them a moment to lie down and allow themselves to feel the weight of the dead for an hour or two. Kenma was younger than Tetsurou if only by a little, and Tetsurou felt (in his opinion, reasonably) responsible for the other being allowed his grief.

It was like this for another three months. They were both a mess, and in this, had grown around each other like tangled vines, a cluttered co-dependency that Tetsurou couldn’t be damned to stop. If Kenma hurt, Tetsurou felt it in his chest; if Tetsurou hurt, Kenma knew. They breathed together. The comfort they found in the aftermath of Tetsurou’s—and effectively Kenma’s—parents’ death pulled them closer until they might as well have been the same being.

They were the same being—except when Tetsurou was providing for them. This wasn’t something he wanted Kenma to see, even if he knew it was happening; Kenma was too smart not to notice where their money came from, why they were doing so well despite having started with absolutely nothing. Their home had been burned to the ground, every part of it turned to ash, and yet they had enough money for a small, dingy apartment and a few bags of groceries every week. Tetsurou didn’t want this brought upon Kenma, even if it was a necessity.

But like he said: Kenma was too smart for that.

They lived in this apartment for the next six months, paying rent but just barely. Tetsurou got turned down from job after job, either because of his inexperience or his being a witch. He tried not to broadcast that he was a monster if only for survival’s sake, but even if he lied on applications (which was a felony, but by then he’d committed so many others that he figured it hardly mattered if it meant he would get hired) it was easy to tell. He eventually started dressing less conspicuously monster, but even then he had little luck. Kenma was more or less the same, and his age, still being a minor, only made the issue worse. There wasn’t anything else to do but turn to less moral options.

Tetsurou met Bokuto Koutarou and Akaashi Keiji the same way he would meet every other important person in his life: through chance.

Three blocks away from their makeshift home was a small supermarket, matching their apartment building in everything but contents. It was dirty and scarcely populated, and therefore perfect for Tetsurou’s needs. He was sneaking a toothbrush into his jacket when a man, grinning and monster, caught him.

“You’re doing it wrong,” the stranger said, and he was still grinning. Tetsurou relaxed—only a little—when he realized the other wasn’t going to turn him in. He shoved his hands in his pockets, closing his fist around the toothbrush in caution, and straightened up. Kenma had told him once with that habitually uninterested expression of his that Tetsurou was intimidating when he tried to be. Making himself appear taller seemed to be the wisest option.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, forcing a corner of his lips up into a smirk, and hoped the stranger couldn’t see through his bravado. “And what’s it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t much.” The man had an air about him like he had the potential to be dangerous but took no current interest in it; right now, he just seemed morbidly curious. He mirrored Tetsurou’s posture good-naturedly, tilting his head. He reminded Tetsurou strikingly of an owl that way. “But I would hate to see you get caught, ya know?”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s no fun that way.”

Yeah. Morbid.

“So, what, you’re interested in teaching me the correct way to shove a toothbrush into my pocket?” Tetsurou let his shoulders fall forward.

The man blinked like he hadn’t considered that option. “Nah,” he shook his head, and his hair bounced with it, “I don’t have time to right now.”

Tetsurou’s grin grew a little more authentic. “A shame.”

“Bokuto-san,” a voice called moments before another stranger rounded the aisle’s corner, a grocery bag in hand. This stranger gave off just as much as of a threatening vibe as the other did, and like “Bokuto-san,” the danger seemed dormant. Tetsurou forced himself to relax again; he was never good at breaking habits. “Time to go.”

Bokuto perked up, “Right!” and turned to Tetsurou with that same smile. He saluted, already walking towards his friend. “Next time we see each other, I’ll show you for sure!”

Tetsurou snorted but waved back. He left the store feeling strange, like something was beginning.

 

\--

 

Something was beginning.

This something included a lot of things. One was the beginning of Tetsurou’s friendship with Bokuto Koutarou; like the monster had promised, he gave Tetsurou tips on proper shoplifting the next time they met, and hit it off pretty well after that. Despite his status as a witch, he didn’t like believing in things like fate or soul mates or destiny, but Bokuto was probably the closest he’d come to ever feeling like something was _meant_ to happen. He was meant to meet Bokuto, meant to meet Akaashi, meant to set the stage for what would happen next.

He found out through less than pleasant means that Bokuto and Akaashi were hit men, in town because they had a job they’d recently completed in the area. The only reason they’d stayed was because Bokuto had sensed that they needed to; “And I was right, ‘cause we got to meet you and Kenma!”

Kenma liked the two well enough. He got along better with Akaashi than he did with Bokuto, only because he wasn’t fond of loud people, and Bokuto very much fell under that category. Akaashi, however, was quietly sarcastic, a cold wit that fit Kenma’s well enough for them to get along. It was a rare and serendipitous thing. Tetsurou loved it.

What happened next was that Bokuto and Akaashi hired Tetsurou. They didn’t really need any extra help, but they took pity on him and his amateur shoplifting, his petty theft and scrounging. Tetsurou was not proud of what he did, but it was a choice he felt like he had to make. Follow Akaashi and Bokuto or let him and Kenma starve to death—those were his only options. Were he alone, he might’ve chosen the latter, but as it was with Kenma around, he couldn’t stand for that to happen.

They trained him, but he’d never been particularly built for combat. What resulted was a compromise; Tetsurou would not be the one doing the killing, but he would be the one assisting, leading, enabling. In the occasional case of mugging, he would be the first assailant before one of the others stepped in. It was never anything particularly serious, but it wore at his conscious nonetheless. How could he stand by and let these people get hurt?

(But on the other hand, why did he care? If it was keeping him and Kenma alive, why should he have cared?)

He pushed it to the back of his mind. His friends had been doing it for years, and they never gave it a second thought. He would need to do the same.

But Kenma was too smart for that.

It was summer, over breakfast that Kenma spoke up about it. “You’re going out with Bokuto and Akaashi again.”

It wasn’t a question, but Tetsurou nodded in confirmation anyway. “Yeah, only for a few hours, though, then I’ll be home. We can have dinner together.”

The past few months had proven that a hit man was, as he’d assumed, paid well. Even though Tetsurou only got a small portion of the payment, he and Kenma had been living much better, well enough that they were able to do things like _have dinner together_ and buy extra clothes just for the hell of it—and even re-dye Kenma’s hair.

Said witch stirred his cereal with his plastic spoon idly. He was sitting on the apartment’s couch with his knees curled up to his chest, the bowl settled on the top of his knees. He looked up from where he’d been staring at his breakfast and turned those yellow eyes on Tetsurou. “Are they teaching you? How to kill?”

Tetsurou didn’t respond for a moment. He had known that Kenma knew at least to some extent, but he had hoped that it wasn’t enough for him to catch on to the _killing_ thing. He pressed his lips together and rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not stupid, Kuro.”

Tetsurou flinched.

“They’re teaching you, right? Mentoring you?” He looked around the room. Kenma still had so much emotion locked up in him, but some bled through, just enough to show how upset he was with Tetsurou. “That’s where all your money has been coming from. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

The words came easier this time. “I didn’t want to get you involved.”

Kenma was quiet. He shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and chewed, slowly, deliberately stretching the silence so that Tetsurou was forced to replay his own words. In reality, Kenma was probably just thinking it over, analyzing the best response and the worst response and what Tetsurou would say after that—but to Tetsurou, it just felt like punishment.

“Kuro,” he said, once he’d swallowed thickly, “I’m already involved.”

It was true, and Tetsurou knew it was true; Kenma was involved by virtue of being around him, by knowing him, by living with him. He would never _not_ be involved.

“I know,” he forced, because he did. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve told you, I just—“

“Were you scared?”

Tetsurou ran a hand through his hair. He bit his lip and nodded, once, stiffly.

Kenma straightened up where he sat, stretching his legs out so his heels touched the floor. He leaned forward and set the empty breakfast bowl on the floor, and when he pulled back up again, his eyes were still trained on the floor. “You don’t need to be scared.”

“Of _course_ I need to be scared, Kenma,” Tetsurou blurted. “It’s a scary business, and I don’t want you to get hurt because of me or anyone else. It’s my fault in the first place for not being able to get a goddamn job.”

“It’s not your fault.” Kenma said it without any emotion, like he was stating a fact.

_Of course it is_ , Tetsurou thought, but he swallowed the words and finished his breakfast. The conversation was over. They would continue it at a later time, when they weren’t still groggy with sleep.

Tetsurou went to work with Bokuto and Akaashi like he normally did, but there was something in the pit of his stomach all day, making it hard to pay attention while sparring with Akaashi or watching Bokuto prepare for a job they’d gotten that day. He kept thinking about the conversation at breakfast, replaying what they’d said over and over again in his head, picking apart all of Kenma’s responses and putting them back together again. He worried about Kenma, he did, and for good reason—Tetsurou had already lost his parents. He wasn’t about to lose Kenma too.

What happened next was he came home and Kenma was still sitting on the couch as if he’d never left. What happened next was Kenma stood from the couch, looking the most determined Tetsurou had maybe ever seen him, and said, “I talked to Bokuto.”

This in itself was not unusual. Tetsurou raised an eyebrow and pushed himself further into the apartment, nudging the door behind him closed with his foot and throwing the house keys onto the kitchenette’s counter. He bent down to untie his shoes. “Are you finally warming up to him?”

“I’m joining.”

Tetsurou stopped. “What?”

“I’m already involved, Kuro.” Footsteps, then hands pulling Tetsurou up. Kenma still had that rare expression in place. “It can’t hurt me anymore than it already is.”

“No.”

“Kur—“

“I said no!” The words were out before he could stop himself. “Kenma, no, this is my fault and my business, you shouldn’t get—“

“Involved?”

Tetsurou pressed his lips together.

“I’m already involved, Kuro,” Kenma said, quiet, like wind. “We already went over this. It’s decided already. Bokuto agreed to it.”

“But I…” Tetsurou gave up before he could even finish the sentence. He was out of steam. Now that the initial shock was gone, he just wanted to eat dinner with his best friend and take a nap in the living room and wake up in the morning not worried about his one still-living loved one dying.

He did two of the three. Kenma slept with him in the living room that night, despite having his own bed.

 

\--

 

What happened next was Akaashi planted a seed in Tetsurou’s ear.

They were walking to their meeting place with Bokuto one night when the topic of witchcraft came up. Akaashi didn’t know much about it, surprisingly, and seemed interested in what Tetsurou had to say, even if it wasn’t much. Tetsurou spoke for a long time about his magic, the way everyone’s was different—and politely didn’t talk about Kenma’s—the rituals and spells and remedies and herbs. In turn, Akaashi would later explain to him the world of demons (sex demons in particular, seeing as that was his line of expertise), but for now, he listened and he blinked and at the end of Tetsurou’s speech he asked, “What about necromancy?”

Tetsurou shoved his hands in his pockets. They were nearing the meeting place; a small monsters-only pub a few blocks over. “What about it?”

“Is it real?”

Necromancy was a hot topic at that point in time. Rumors and speculation on whether or not it was real—or, if it _was_ real, the legality and morality of it—had surfaced a few months ago with rumors of a famous witch supposedly being brought back to life for a total of two days before crumbling to dust. There were two different eyewitnesses but no confirmed evidence outside of this. The way the witnesses described it was something incredible; the first day after it happened, the witch was like every other person, walking, talking, breathing. The necromancers were quick to assume they had been successful in their experiment, but as time went on, she began to deteriorate. By twelve hours, her eyes were turning black, her skin beginning to rot, her reactions slower. By twenty-four hours, she didn’t walk like a person anymore, her face caving in, her cheekbones canyons. By day two, she was crumbling.

Or, at least, that’s what they _said_.

Some thought it was a hoax, but other witches had taken the news as incentive to dive into research on necromancy again in an attempt to harness that power. It was the greatest wave of black-magic-based research since the late eighteen hundreds.

As it was, Tetsurou shrugged. “That depends on whether or not you want to believe it is, I guess. It’s sort of a difficult subject right now. Why?”

The demon thought it over, tail flicking behind him. “Bokuto mentioned it.”

“He did?”

A nod, but Akaashi looked more solemn than he had before.

“In what context did he mention it? If it’s okay for me to ask.”

“Bringing back the people we’ve killed.”

Tetsurou’s feet stopped on their own. Akaashi stopped and waited for him, looking, to his credit, only mildly confused. He allowed the witch a moment to gather his bearings again, a small thing Tetsurou was grateful for.

He took a deep breath as subtly as he could and began walking again. To bring back that many people was impossible, and bringing the dead back hadn’t even technically been confirmed as true yet, but the very idea of it had…done something to him. It felt wrong to even consider giving life back, but the way his stomach turned didn’t feel like indication of discomfort. It was deeper than that, the same way he had felt he was meant to meet Bokuto, meant to meet Akaashi.

What happened next was Tetsurou changed the subject, met Bokuto at the pub, and went home. What happened next was Tetsurou couldn’t sleep that night, curled into the couch with nothing but the ceiling stains to keep him company. What happened next was Tetsurou disappeared to the public library first thing the next morning. What happened next was Tetsurou spent three months researching necromancy, spent three months being consumed by this sudden obsession. What happened next was Tetsurou was going to learn reanimation, and he was going to bring his parents back.

 

\--

 

It took two days to get Kenma on board with the idea.

Tetsurou was, reasonably, scared to tell Kenma about it. He debated going about it himself, but were he to succeed, Kenma would figure it out anyway—how else would their previously dead family be walking around again? And once Kenma found out that Tetsurou was doing something behind his back, it would be the conversation about Bokuto and Akaashi all over again.

He spent a week thinking this decision over, but by Sunday, he was walking to an abandoned gas station with Kenma for some place private. He spilled his guts under dim streetlights, wringing his hands together in a very un-Tetsurou-like gesture. Kenma politely didn’t say anything about it.

What he did say was that it would never work.

“You don’t know that,” Tetsurou pled. “No one knows for sure.”

“Exactly.”

He frowned and tried a different approach. “Don’t you miss them?”

Kenma looked away and didn’t say anything. He folded his hands together and pointedly looked everywhere but at Tetsurou, who had already begun talking again.

“Think about it, Kenma!” he tried again. “We have hardly anything as it is! What would we have to lose by trying this?”

“Our lives, for one.” The witch’s voice was calm, but even under the streetlights Tetsurou could see the way he was shivering, shaking. With anger or with fear or with whatever was going through Kenma’s head. His emotions were wrapped tight into himself right now. Tetsurou couldn’t decipher any of it.

Tetsurou didn’t say that he hardly cared anymore if he died in the process. He couldn’t say the same for Kenma (he couldn’t forgive himself if he were the reason for Kenma getting hurt), which was why he wanted to do this alone—but he knew that the other needed to know. He got himself into this mess. There wasn’t a way out.

“Even if it works,” Kenma said, still deceptively calm, “it’s illegal. If anyone finds out…”

“No one will find out.”

“You can’t be sure about that, Kuro.”

It was true, but Tetsurou wasn’t about to let something like the _laws_ hold them back. “I am sure. I’ve even talked to Bokuto and Akaashi about it.” They had managed to evade getting caught for—well, Tetsurou wasn’t sure how long, but he knew it was a long time. If any two people were fit to help them with this, it was them.

Kenma seemed to think it over for a moment. Tetsurou sat down on the curb and waited for a response, anything at all, holding his breath for the denial. He felt eyes watching him, then Kenma sat down next to him with his knees pulled up to his chest.

“Why couldn’t we talk about this at home?”

It wasn’t much of a home yet, but Tetsurou didn’t say that. “Our apartment could be tapped. You never know.”

Kenma snorted quietly. “Right.”

After that, they sat on the curb and spoke. Not about Tetsurou’s plans or his parents, but about Bokuto and Akaashi, the odd noise the dishwasher made, a woman that had approached Kenma on the street, life before. Kenma talked quietly about a spell he had been working at lately in the dark of their apartment. Tetsurou talked about the stories Akaashi told regarding demons. They talked, and talked, and the sun came up, and they were still talking.

The two of them walked back to their apartment building in companionable silence, so unlike the tense, frantic one it had been on their way here. Even so, there was a thickness to the air around them, an underlying knowledge. Tetsurou loved Kenma, and Tetsurou wasn’t about to pretend the object of his affection didn’t know this already—but even so, he loved his parents, and he was going to try it himself even if Kenma didn’t want to help. This was another thing that Kenma was too smart to not catch on to.

Kenma never explained, but that might have been why, a day later, he proclaimed over take out that he was, while not okay with the plan, going to go along with it. “For your sake,” he said, and it sounded like only half the truth.

 

\--

 

What happened next was Kenma’s death.

It was mid-July, full moon, at a nearly abandoned park in the outskirts of town. The sun had already gone down, and they were beginning to set up the materials needed. Gems and mason jars full of herbs and something claimed to be unicorn blood; real blood, too. That, however, Tetsurou had stolen from a blood drive. He didn’t steal it because he didn’t have the money, but because it was the only way to get it. Since blood drives were purely for vampires, they wouldn’t have given it to him unless he somehow managed to prove he was a vampire—so he skipped the hassle and went straight for petty theft.

Kenma was bent over the materials, a summoning circle already drawn in the grass. His hair was tucked back behind his ear, his tank top scrunching up where he bent, and Tetsurou was reminded with great clarity that this was the witch he’d been in love with for years now; Kenma loved him back, he knew, but in what way was still being decided. They’d talked about it once, after a situation involving a bottle of wine and Tetsurou’s grief. The topic hadn’t been brought up since—their main problems didn’t involve their maybe-romance—but Tetsurou thought about it now, and then wondered why.

The moon was hanging over them, bright and clear and in the perfect position for what they needed. Kenma nodded at him once, a sign they were ready, and had just picked up the mason jar full of human blood when there was rustling in the trees behind them.

Three vampires emerged from the forest surrounding them, and Tetsurou paled.

 

\--

 

What happened next was a ritual.

Not the one they had studied for, not the one they were prepared to do—but an impromptu, barely-learned one, a last ditch effort to save the only person Tetsurou still had left. In his research on necromancy, he had learned a million and one things—how to preserve a dead body, how to talk to spirits, how to exorcise demons, how to resurrect someone, how to kill someone. How to attach a dying soul to the next child being born.

It required witch’s blood. It was a good thing Tetsurou was already bleeding.

Kenma was dying, and dying in his arms, and Tetsurou mumbled and screamed. The strangers had already left. They’d run away the moment Kenma started bleeding out, their faces stricken, pale, scared. In a few minutes, Tetsurou would curse them, would scream at their retreating forms in hopes they would hear his promise. But for now, he made another, locking eyes with fading gold: _I’m going to save you._

 

\--

 

He passed out. Bokuto apparently found the two of them like that, Kenma’s body decaying, Tetsurou’s halted. They spent the next months grieving the death—temporary death, Tetsurou reminded himself, reminded his friends every day—and trying to figure out what happens next.

What happened next was Tetsurou’s body refused to move on. He was nineteen when it happened and almost done with his growing, but the problem with poorly researched rituals was that they often left out information. The ritual had side effects, as all life-altering ones do.

Tetsurou would be stuck that way. In perfect harmony with his mind, he would not move on from that night. He would never grow old. He would be nineteen forever.

 

\--

 

Years after this, miles away from that place and that apartment, Tsukishima Kei woke up in cold sweat.

The room was dark. Kei’s heart was still thumping wildly in his chest, a trapped rabbit, and his head swam, around and around. Even though he’d woken from his dream, images still flashed through his head; not even consciousness could deter his visions.

Lights, a scar, two bodies; a newspaper, a fur coat, a death. A handshake. Three winding pillars. A vampire, a seer, a shapeshifter. Anger that wasn’t his own thrummed through him—then betrayal, then a low, melancholy acceptance, then hope, then nothing. Kei’s breaths came out strangled. His mind still whirled, around and around and around and around.

The bed next to his creaked, and the sound pulled his mind back to himself. Yamaguchi was stirring, roused from his sleep by Kei’s distress—or maybe just his heavy breathing.

“Tsukki?”

Kei grappled around blindly for his glasses and, once found, slid them on with shaking hands. His vision cleared. Yamaguchi was sitting up in his bed, hair a mess, expression worried. “Tsukki, what’s wrong?” The words slurred together at the end.

The psychic forced his breathing to even as much as he could and hid his shaking hands under the covers. “It’s nothing,” he lied. “Go back to sleep.”

Yamaguchi stubbornly ignored this and continued to sit up, pushing the bed sheets back and leaning against his pillow. Around a yawn, he asked, “What time is it?”

Kei checked the time on his phone. “Almost four A.M.”

The witch stayed quiet for a moment, clearly only half conscious. When he realized he was dozing off again, he shook his head and slapped his cheeks a few times. Kei’s lips twitched up in a smile against his will, but his head still swam. Around and around.

His head started to hurt.

“Did you have another dream?” Yamaguchi wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. The heating in their farmhouse was not the best, and even though it was almost February, it only seemed to get colder as the days went by.

Kei’s breathing still wasn’t completely normal, and his heart rate spiked again at the memory. Around and around. He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Unfortunately.”

Yamaguchi didn’t bother asking what the dream was about, but Kei almost wished he would. Even if it made it more difficult on him later to tell people in explicit detail what he’d seen—although that was less proven factually and more superstition—he wanted this out of him, wanted someone else to see what he’d seen instead of being alone in it. Who better to share this with than Yamaguchi, he thought, but the witch stayed politely quiet and Kei didn’t offer any more information. They sat in silence. Around and around.

“Let’s talk about something,” Yamaguchi suggested, sitting up straighter on his bed. When Kei didn’t protest, he continued, “What do you think about this town?”

“It’s,” his head still hurt, “alright.”

He didn’t mention that he was tired of jumping from city to city just to protect Hinata. Part of him understood they had a duty to members of Karasuno—but part of him selfishly wished they wouldn’t. This was everyone’s home just as much as it was Hinata’s, and they were still suffering for him.

(This was unfair of him to think, he knew, but it did not stop the thought.)

Three pillars. A vampire, a seer, a shapeshifter.

Yamaguchi was talking over the swimming in Kei’s head. “Yachi and I are going into town tomorrow morning for supplies.”

“Oh.” Kei was not listening, and if the way Yamaguchi glanced at him was any indication, the other knew it too. Still, he kept talking, mundane mundane mundane. He talked about Akiteru. He talked about Yachi. He kept like that, forcing some semblance of normal as an attempt at comforting Kei’s still rapid breathing, until he was falling asleep where he sat, upright and bundled in blankets. Kei’s head hurt worse. He didn’t say this.

“Go to sleep,” he did say, and Yamaguchi blinked his eyes open.

“You’re still upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

Yamaguchi gave him a dubious look. “Do you want to talk about it? I know you don’t usually tell people about…your dreams and visions and stuff, but…”

Around and around. Kei was beginning to realize how incredibly transparent he could be when it came to Yamaguchi and odd hours of the morning. Had the other always read him that easily?

Kei nodded resolutely, surprising both Yamaguchi and himself, and began to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, comments make our day !!! (also, this may sound presumptuous of us but we follow #circus of crows on tumblr if any1 wants to talk abt it there or something)


	12. take my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You shouldn’t lie to me, Tetsu-chan. See, that’s not just binding magic you’re stuck in right now. Every time you lie, you get a little shock,” he clapped his hands together, “just like that. But I should warn you, the bigger the lie, the more it hurts. If it gets too bad, you could die from it.”
> 
> The vampire’s grin was wide and horrifying. “So try to tell the truth, ‘kay?”
> 
> \--
> 
> the kidnappie chappie 2.0  
> alt:  
> [bokuto voice] mm tastey appel me likey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE we get into apologies, look at this [ AMAZING ](http://scowlingbabycrow.tumblr.com/post/145060637556/huffs-proudly-a-tiny-fanart-thingy-from-my#notes) [ ART ](http://scowlingbabycrow.tumblr.com/post/145071393521/eh-some-random-vampire-kageyama-doodles-before-i#notes)!!!! AHH!!! its so good we r so, ,, so happy :") both of us screamed for a long time when we saw it we r honestly so #blessed to have this 
> 
> anyway, there IS a reason that we have been gone for approx 5 weeks! mostly its b/c gray was attending a writing camp, wherein he wrote a novel in 28 days, so he didnt have much time to spend on coc :/ 
> 
> the other part is b/c it took us a while to work out some plot holes and etc etc. still, we're INCREDIbly sorry that we were gone that long!!!! thats the longest absence this fic will have, for sure. hopefully we'll b back to our once-a-week updating schedule (altho it may end up being more like once-every-week-and-a-half considering we've sort of accidentally shifted from 5k chapters to 10K+ chapters lmao)
> 
> also! weve mentioned this before but as a reminder, while we dont respond to comments/questions on ao3, if u ever want to contact us via tumblr and talk to us abt this fic, we're 100%%% ALWAYS down for that!!!! always always. we love talking abt this fic, so, so much
> 
> **CHAPTER TWS** : um,, not that much honestly but, theres mild violence that features a gun, altho no1 gets shot. nothing worse than usual!

“You’re staying.”

Shouyou let Kenma enter the tent before him. It wasn’t a question, but Shouyou thought it over like it was. “I guess so, yeah,” he said, and set the bag of dog food down on the ground in front of Orthrus. The beast stirred from her nap, perking up at the presence of her caretaker. “We don’t have anywhere else to go, and I really think I like it here. Everyone’s…” 

Everyone was a lot of things. Nice, he wanted to say, but that wasn’t a strong enough word for it. Everyone had treated him like family. Everyone had given him a home. Everyone was what he’d been searching for, he thought—everyone _was_ home.

Kenma didn’t ask for an end to the thought; he probably already knew what Shouyou was trying to articulate. The ghost sat down on the floor a few feet from where Shouyou was feeding Orthrus, close enough to converse and observe but far enough to not get involved. Like Kageyama, Kenma wasn’t very fond of dogs, but he’d tagged along with Shouyou during his caretaking duties this morning. For what reason, Shouyou didn’t ask. He assumed the ghost was just—lonely. Maybe he’d finally gotten tired of staring out their bedroom window.  

“But you haven’t made it official.” This also wasn’t voiced as a question. Shouyou ran a hand through Orthrus’s fur, scratching behind one of her ears with the other. The dog’s enormous tail thumped against the floor, shaking the tent.

“Not yet,” he answered. “I think I will soon, though. It just feels—kinda silly to tell them something like that right now, you know? With all that’s going on. And it’s pretty clear that I don’t want to leave, I think, since I’ve stayed as long as I have.”  Two months had passed, and he’d voiced no interest in leaving. That seemed indication enough to Shouyou.

Kenma hummed softly. Along with physically being _more_ , his mood seemed to have improved more too. Sugawara said it might have something to do with closure—remembering his past life from meeting Kuroo, getting to talk with the people who had unintentionally ended his life; were it a movie, that was where Kenma’s story would end. Happy. Content.

Shouyou didn’t want it to end there. That was probably selfish of him, he thought, but Kenma had been a part of his life for so long, had been his best friend since he was, quite literally, born—it was odd to think of living without that familiar presence at his side.

To dispel the thoughts creeping in on him, Shouyou asked, “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“Do you want to stay?”

The ghost blinked, like he hadn’t even considered what _he_ would want. He glanced at Orthrus, then at Shouyou, then at the walls of fabric around them. “I don’t know,” he said.

“That’s,” Shouyou bent down to close the bag of dog food, “probably fair. I think you’d really like it here, though, if you gave it more time. Two months feels like forever, but for you it’s only been, like, a few weeks since you stopped feeling weird about everything—“

“Shouyou,” Kenma stopped him.

The redhead looked up, a question of _what do you sound so upset about?_ already on his tongue, only to make eye contact with a very annoyed, very confused Kageyama. He shut his mouth so quickly he was afraid he’d hurt his jaw.

Before he could even fumble for an excuse, the vampire’s frown deepened. “What the _hell_?”

“What are you doing in here?” Shouyou glanced at the still open doorway. Yachi had gone into town today and given the job of feeding the animals to him while she was out, and no one else but him and her ever came down here. He had expected to be alone for another two hours _at least…_

“I came to…” Kageyama’s confusion calmed down in lieu of being embarrassed. Shouyou didn’t miss the blush behind his scars. “…Check on you.” He added quickly, “Daichi made me.”

Shouyou stood up, trying to make himself look less panicked than he felt. He nudged the bag of food away with his foot. “And you couldn’t _knock_?”

“It’s a _tent_ , dumbass. How am I supposed to knock?”

“I don’t know, you could’ve just been, like, ‘hey, by the way, I’m here and also coming in’ or something! You can’t just walk in on people, Bakageyama!”

“’Walk in on…’?” Kageyama’s face twisted into a scowl. “This isn’t even your room!”

From the corner of his eye, Shouyou saw Kenma’s lips twitch into a smile, clearly amused by the two’s banter. It was another genuine, lively thing he’d been doing more recently.

Kageyama saw Shouyou looking. “Who the hell were you even talking to? And what are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Shouyou snapped. “I was—talking to Orthrus.” The dog’s tail thumped happily against the floor at her name. “…Obviously.”

Kageyama looked between them for a moment, trying to decide whether or not Shouyou was telling the truth. He crossed his arms over his chest with finality. “Liar. You were having a conversation.”

“I can have a conversation with Orthrus.”

“She’s a dog.”

“…So?”

Kenma stood up from where he’d been sitting on the floor and glided over, still stifling smiles. He set a hand on Shouyou’s arm gently, just enough for the contact to be felt. “It’s okay, Shouyou. You can tell him if you want to, I won’t get mad.”

He almost responded _are you sure?_ before remembering they weren’t alone. Lately, it had become more and more difficult to switch back and forth between talking to Kenma and ignoring him, what with his new found freedom around Sugawara and Daichi.

No one said anything. Kageyama must have realized Shouyou needed a moment to think because for those few seconds, he didn’t push it. He just stood with his arms crossed, watching. The muscles in his shoulders, usually pulled bowstring tight, relaxed minutely. Shouyou was struck with the reminder of how beautiful Kageyama was when he wasn’t twisting his body into something angry.

The hand on Shouyou’s arm dropped away, and he missed the cold if only for a second.

“Fine,” he said, and put his hands on his hips. “I was talking to someone.”

Kageyama didn’t even look excited by the confession. He nodded. “Okay. Who?”

“I was getting to that,” Shouyou huffed, and glanced at Kenma again for reassurance. It felt weird, telling someone about his biggest secret. “It’s…um, I’m sort of being haunted.”

 

\--

 

Whatever Tobio had expected when Hinata finally admitted to talking to someone, this wasn’t it.

Granted, it wasn’t an entirely _impossible_ explanation; the shapeshifter had always been weird, ever since they found him wandering the streets with nothing but a backpack and his own brand of stupidity. It would explain a million and one questions Tobio had managed to come up with since then—Tobio thought back at every vacant look, every glance behind him at something that wasn’t there, every mumbled comment or mouthed word or conversation with himself: every slightly off thing about Hinata Shouyou he had meticulously picked out since day one. Even if it was stupidly obvious now to Tobio (how could it have been anything else?) it had never even been an option that crossed his mind when he thought about Hinata’s weird, sometimes nonsensical idiosyncrasies. When Hinata had first arrived, he’d thought it was a sign of something more dangerous just under the skin—and then, later, maybe a part of his shapeshifting. A strange quirk, maybe habits he’d picked up on accident, symptoms of something he wasn’t telling them about; not a _ghost_.

As it was, Tobio forced his eyes to stay on Hinata’s face, to keep himself from blindly searching around the room for the ghost. Obviously he couldn’t see it, but that didn’t stop him from itching to look.

“So you’re telling me,” he spoke slowly, still trying to gather his thoughts, “you’ve had someone haunting you your _entire life_ and you didn’t think to _tell us_?”

Hinata nodded, then frowned defensively. “Yeah, but how was I _supposed_ to tell anyone? I lived with humans my whole life, and then when I got here, he was scared of you guys. He didn’t even want me to stay!”

Tobio opened his mouth to snap a response, but thought better of it. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think about it rationally instead of getting worked up. “Am I the only one you’ve told?”

“Suga and Daichi know, but that’s all. You’re the only other person.” Hinata sat down on the ground in front of Orthrus, who butted one of her noses into his back affectionately, prying for his attention. He turned around halfway to pat her, and the shadow cast over his face looked darker somehow. Tobio had found that Hinata, for someone whose identity revolved around changing, more often than not stayed stagnant; it was rare to see him rattled beyond comprehension, but for the first time, signs of the month’s events had started to show. He’d been through a lot lately.

After a moment of debating, Tobio sat down on the ground across from Hinata and crossed his legs. They looked at each other, both waiting for the other to speak first.

“Is—“

“How are—“

They shut their mouths in synch. Tobio hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

Hinata motioned towards him enthusiastically, clearly excited that Tobio was willing to initiate conversation. “You first.”

“Is…” Tobio cleared his throat. “Is he…good?”

Good wasn’t the word he was looking for; Tobio wasn’t sure if he believed in things like _good_ and _bad_ when it came to ghosts. In his opinion, there was only aggressive and passive, negative energy and positive energy. But he had never been good at voicing things like this, and more often than not his words came out jumbled, misconstrued. God knew how many times with Hinata alone he’d said one thing and meant another. He was doing well to get out even this, in his opinion.

Hinata thought the question over. “He’s my friend,” he settled on. “And he’s never done anything to hurt anyone. I think mostly he’s just lonely. And…”

Tobio waited for the _and_. When he didn’t get it, he said, “Does he have a name?”

Another idiosyncrasy of Hinata’s that Tobio had picked up on: his whole face lit up when he was interested in something, not just his eyes. He did this now, answering, “His name’s Kenma. You can talk to him, if you want.”

“What?” Tobio couldn’t help it when he glanced around the room this time. “Talk to…? I-I don’t think that’s…”

“It’ll be fine,” Hinata reassured. “He can hear everything we’re saying anyway, it’s not like it’s all that different. I would just let you know what he’s saying. I do it all the time with Suga-san.”

Tobio’s first response was to ask what Kenma even had to talk about with Sugawara, but he didn’t get the words out. Hinata gestured to a spot to his left, away from Orthrus. “He’s over there right now.”

Tobio tried again not to stare, but it was different now that he knew where the ghost was. There was something unsettling about knowing someone else could see and hear him, but he couldn’t do the same. Tobio had never liked the idea of being watched. He swallowed his anxiety.

“Kenma,” Hinata gestured between them, “Kageyama. Kageyama, Kenma. He’s technically known you for as long as I have, though.”

That did nothing to help his nerves. He offered an uncharacteristically timid, “Uh, hi.”

Hinata snorted. Tobio turned from where he assumed Kenma was to Hinata, eyes narrowed accusingly. “What?” he snapped.

The redhead bit his lip, obviously hiding more laughter, and the expression expelled just a little bit of Tobio’s anxiety.

“I’ve never seen you act shy before,” Hinata explained. “It’s just—funny, since you’re usually so,” he waved his hands around in some semblance of gesticulation, “ _not_.”

“I...” Tobio forced his face not to heat up. “Shut up.”

“Kenma agrees. He says it’s ‘very unlike you.’” Hinata stopped for a moment, listening. “’Refreshing.’”

“Tell Kenma to shut up too.”

Hinata only laughed more.

 

\--

 

Yachi Hitoka was used to spending time alone with Kiyoko.

This was for two reasons. One: because they, along with Yamaguchi, were Karasuno’s only witches in an establishment that may as well have been built on magic. For a place so dependent on protective spells and healing brews, they had always been lacking in support, a problem that was as prevalent as it was not talked about. Hitoka had never heard Daichi, Asahi, or Sugawara complaining about it, but she and Yamaguchi discussed it on occasion, when their jobs were getting too strenuous for just the three of them.

Two: because—for a reason Hitoka had never quite placed outside of fate, maybe, if she believed in that—she and Kiyoko clicked. Hitoka had been a blushing, stuttering, flustered mess the first few months she arrived at Karasuno, and she still was sometimes, but there was something oddly _right_ about being around Kiyoko, about spending time with her and making her laugh. Hitoka wasn’t sure if the other felt the same way, but she seemed to reciprocate at least to some degree—because they spent the majority of their days together, when Kiyoko wasn’t helping Sugawara and Hitoka wasn’t teaching Hinata. Kiyoko was a much more skilled witch than Hitoka, and they spent a lot of their time hunched over spell books or iridescent cauldrons, laughing incantations, sharing soft glances around attempted charms. Whenever she learned a new spell, Kiyoko would call Yamaguchi and Hitoka to the attic. Some days, she only called Hitoka.

So Yachi Hitoka was more than used to spending time alone with Kiyoko. The only issue was that she was not used to spending time alone with Kiyoko _outside_ of Karasuno, and certainly not with things in the state that they were.

Tension had been building somewhere underneath Karasuno’s foundation, and Kiyoko had voiced her concern to Hitoka in private—that eventually Karasuno would crack under the weight of it. Hitoka didn’t like to think of herself as a pessimist, but she was a worrier, and she couldn’t help but feel her own self being dragged down by this weight, this knowledge of her home’s collapsing.

They were visiting one of the locally owned witchcraft shops, a blinking, neon sign outside the window telling them they were _OPEN_ , with a low-resolution poster underneath saying they had _NEW: AUTHENTIC SELKIE SKIN! HALF-PRICE UNTIL FEBRUARY 18 TH! _The reason for their trip was normal, just a weekly errand run, but it had been a long time since there wasn’t a third person with the two witches, usually Yamaguchi or Akiteru or Asahi. The tension had pulled everyone in different directions, all equally frantic, and so nobody but Kiyoko and Hitoka could spare the time and resources to run into town for a day. Thus, Hitoka was not used to this.

Kiyoko went in first, a small ring signaling their entrance. The shop was small but packed with all sorts of supplies: shelves lining the walls crammed to the brim with jarred ingredients, display tables overflowing with crystals and magical jewelry all promising different extraordinary benefits, and walls behind the counter covered with the newest, updated spell books—all approved by the National Witch Association, of course. Whatever Hitoka could think of, she saw. Half of her wondered if it wasn’t a charm.

The man behind the counter greeted them with a polite, “Anything I can help you two lovely ladies with today?”

Kiyoko offered him a smile, the kind that meant she wasn’t interested but appreciated the offer anyway. “We’re fine, thank you. Just here to restock.”

“Of course, of course. Let me get the catalogue for you!” He disappeared behind the counter, through a doorway leading into a backroom that Hitoka hadn’t even noticed was there.

While they were momentarily left alone, Kiyoko started browsing the display tables. Hitoka walked next to her, feeling out of place. She wanted to say something, maybe ask more about the tension Kiyoko had talked about on their way here, but everything she thought to say sounded ridiculous in her head. Being alone with Kiyoko really shouldn’t have been this difficult, considering how _often_ they were alone, and in even more private situations than this—but Hitoka’s heart was thumping in her chest all the same.

Kiyoko, thankfully, saved the other from her embarrassment. She touched the glass covering the crystals. “Asahi-san said that we’re relocating again this Friday.”

“What?” Hitoka glanced behind her, to see if the man had returned. “But we’ve only been here for a few days…isn’t that a bit…?“

“Too soon?” Kiyoko bit her lip, eyebrows knitted. “I’m afraid so. We’ve been hopping around the past few weeks much quicker than normal, but this is getting insane, even for us.”

“I don’t…understand what we’re running from.”

“Tsukishima’s having bad visions.”

Hitoka blinked. “Wh-what? Again? I thought—?”

She’d found out earlier through Yamaguchi that Tsukishima had been having negative visions surrounding Karasuno before Hinata had been kidnapped—a lot of which _involved_ Hinata. After the raid, they’d all assumed that was what had been triggering the visions, just omens of that night.

But they never went away.

“I think Daichi is hoping that if we run far enough, whatever is going to happen, won’t. I think he’s under the impression that it’s about the time and the place, and if we just keep moving, we won’t get caught in anything like that again.” She sighed. “He’s just afraid of something else hurting Karasuno. Especially because…”

Hitoka didn’t get to hear the rest. The man returned before Kiyoko could finish her thought, brandishing a fat, colorful directory that he plopped on the counter in front of him with too much enthusiasm.

“Here you are! Sorry that took so long, I hope it wasn’t an unpleasant wait?”

“Not at all.” Kiyoko gave him that smile again and moved towards the counter. Hitoka stayed staring at the crystal display, running the conversation over in her head. She was so caught in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the bell ringing or the door being opened.

She did feel it when a man bumped into her, though.

“So sorry,” he said, raising his hands and giving her an apologetic and unnaturally beautiful smile. He looked like a giant standing next to Hitoka. “I almost didn’t see you there.”

“I-it’s fine, no need to apologize—I should be the one apologizing!” she rushed to say, bowing deeper than necessary.

The man laughed and waved her off. “No need to be so formal…”

“Yachi Hitoka,” she supplied.

“No need to be so formal, Yachi-san,” he finished, and for a moment she could’ve sworn she saw something deeper there, in his expression—something beyond polite interest, closer to a predator. She forced down a shiver and glanced to make sure Kiyoko was still close by.  

“Say,” the man put a hand on his chin thoughtfully, “don’t you work with that circus group? The one that’s performing in town this week?”

She blinked and felt her face redden. It wasn’t often that she was recognized on the streets; that was more Nishinoya and Tanaka’s thing. She always took care during shows to cover up as much as possible, so she could avoid attention like this. “Um, yes, actually…H-how did you know?”

“I read a few articles about it a while back. I’m not usually that interested in performances and things like that, you see, but there’s something about Karasuno that just,” he smiled, and that was _definitely_ predacious, “got my attention.”

“Did it?” She tried her best to sound as calm as she could, but Kiyoko was still speaking with the clerk about their orders, and Hitoka could feel herself beginning to panic. The man didn’t seem on his own all that dangerous, but she could never know these days, especially not by herself….

Not to mention the pointed ears he was sporting behind perfectly sculpted hair—or the sharp teeth he’d flashed just now. Hitoka could _not_ take a vampire on her own. She knew; she’d tried before.

The man nodded thoughtfully. “It did, quite quickly actually. I’ve seen a few of your shows online. They’re all beautifully done, and it’s such a new concept you’ve emplaced. It really is a shame what happened the other week, you know, with the terrorist attack and all. The backlash is even worse, don’t you think?”

“O-oh, yes, it’s been very…” _difficult_. She bit her lip.

“You’re in charge of the animal acts, aren’t you?” He changed the topic as quickly as he’d brought it up. “The tigers are very well trained. And the dog—what’s its name?—seems to be quite the crowd please. Myself included, of course.”

Hitoka opened her mouth to say _thank you_ , or maybe _please leave me alone, you’re dangerous_ —but before she could get the frantic words out, Kiyoko was hooking an arm through hers, saying, “Yachi-san?”

“Yes?” She felt herself relaxing just at the other witch’s presence. “Did you, um, get everything we need?”

“I did.”

The man smiled between the two of them. “You’re close friends, I see? Do you also work with Karasuno, glasses-chan?”

Kiyoko blinked for a moment at the nickname before composing herself again. “I do. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we need to get back to the house now, Yachi. Everyone is waiting for us, and we’ve been gone for a while.”

“Right, of course…”

She allowed herself to be pulled towards the entrance, Kiyoko’s arm still tucked securely around hers. “Um, good bye…”

“Oikawa Tooru,” he supplied, grinning. “And tell Tobio-chan I say hello, won’t you?”

 

\--

 

“Earlier,” Kageyama closed the front door behind them, “what were you going to say?”

“Which time?” Shouyou was going to say a lot of things “earlier”; Kageyama was going to have to give him more specifics than that, he thought. Kenma trailed behind him, blinking at the exchange before motioning towards the stairway: their signal that he was going back to the room. Shouyou gave him a thumbs up to let the other know he understood.

Kageyama watched Shouyou, eyes narrowed. He was clearly still getting used to the “ghost” thing. “In the tent,” he clarified, “you said something and then never finished the sentence.”

“That’s because you talked over me, Bakageyama.” Shouyou smiled.

“It goes both ways, stupid. We talked over each _other_.”

In the kitchen, Ennoshita was playing a game with Tanaka and Asahi, cards spread out across one of the dining tables, and he seemed to be winning. He waved at Shouyou and Kageyama as they entered. “You guys wanna play?”

Shouyou’s immediate response was to give an enthusiastic yes and take up the open seat next to Asahi—but Kageyama looked more than a little uncomfortable, and they _were_ having a conversation…

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass this time,” he said, genuinely apologetic, and waited while Kageyama dug through the fridge for whatever it was he was looking for. He returned with a water bottle—although clearly not containing water—twisting the cap off even as he closed the fridge behind him.

Tanaka, Asahi, and Ennoshita had returned to their card game, and they left the kitchen with a small wave. Shouyou tried not to stare when Kageyama took a much too long gulp.

“Well?”

He jumped. “What?”

“You never told me what you were going to say.” Kageyama twisted the cap back on. The living room was empty; Shouyou made himself comfortable on the couch, while the other stood, looking uncomfortable as he often did.

“Oh.” Shouyou blinked. “I was just going to ask how things are.”

“Things?”

“You know,” he gestured around the room, “ _things_. With you. And with…the show and stuff. Whenever I bring it up with Yamaguchi and Hitoka, they don’t wanna talk about it.”

Kageyama frowned, but it was smaller than usual, pensive. He finally sat on the couch, but Shouyou didn’t miss the considerable amount of space he left between them (Shouyou pretended he wasn’t offended by it). “Things are…” He clasped the bottle between his hands. “Fine.”

Shouyou hummed in response. Things didn’t _sound_ fine, but he knew better than to say that right now, even if it was true. Everyone seemed to be avoiding Shouyou’s questions lately; why do we move so much? Why do we never stay anywhere for more than a week now? Why aren’t the shows selling well? Why is everyone insisting things are still “fine”?

Things are fine, Shouyou.

“We’re…”

Shouyou perked up in interest. He waited for Kageyama to get his thoughts together.

Kageyama tried again. “Are you staying here?”

Wasn’t that the question of the hour? Shouyou’s eyes flickered to the bottle in between the other’s hands, fingers running over the surface nervously, and he thought about the answer he was going to give Daichi, when the time came.

He leaned past Kageyama to make sure there wasn’t anyone standing outside the living room entrance. When he found no one, he returned to his spot and lowered his voice. “It’s a secret right now,” he said, “so you can’t tell Daichi or Suga or Asahi, okay?”

Kageyama frowned. “Why is it a secret?”

“Because I don’t want them to know yet.”

The vampire looked like he was going to ask another question, but thought against it. He shut his mouth and nodded.

“I’m going to.” Shouyou smiled. “But that’s not much of a surprise, right? Since I’ve already been here for, like, two months already.” If he was ever going to leave, he would’ve done it after the kidnapping, Shouyou thought.

“…Oh.” Kageyama didn’t sound disappointed or upset, but there was a lilt in his voice that Shouyou couldn’t quite place. There was a pause, then, “Why don’t you want them to know yet?”

“It just feels stupid to let them know something like that in the middle of everything else. It’ll be, like, a good surprise or something, once everything is settled and all that.” Another pause. “Why do you ask? Whether or not I’m staying, I mean.”

Kageyama’s thumb found its way over the lid of the bottle, tracing the outside methodically. Shouyou watched its movements.

“Daichi wants us to be partners,” Kageyama said, his eyes trained very deliberately on his thumb. Even with his head ducked down, Shouyou saw his ears tinge pink. “He thinks you’d be a good acrobat.”

_Oh_ , Shouyou thought, and then didn’t understand what his heart rate was speeding up for. “An acrobat?”

“That’s what I just said, yeah.”

There was that brashness again. Shouyou was almost glad for its return; it brought back some normalcy, and it allowed him a moment to calm himself. “How come Daichi didn’t tell me that?”

Kageyama shrugged. “I don’t know, he probably didn’t want to jump the gun too soon.”

“What do you mean ‘jump the gun’?” Shouyou crossed his legs on the couch. Like that, their legs just barely brushed. “How long ago did he say that?”

“…When you first got here.”

Shouyou thought again, _Oh_. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There was another pause, longer this time. Shouyou suddenly wished Kenma had stayed—if not to change the subject, just to give him something to focus on. As it was, he had nothing but the thumb still running over the bottle’s lid.

When it became too much to bear, Shouyou stood up from the couch. “I’m going to go find Tsukishima.”

“Right,” he heard Kageyama say behind him, already making his way to the stairs, taking two steps at a time. The entire reason in coming inside had been to speak to Tsukishima, but talking to Kageyama was a much larger distraction than Shouyou would have thought.

He knocked on Tsukishima and Yamaguchi’s bedroom door, but got no answer. Shouyou debated knocking again and waiting; where else would Tsukishima have been if not his room? He didn’t train in the gym, Shouyou had never seen him visit the animal tents before, and as far as Shouyou knew he really only _wanted_ to spend time with Yamaguchi—and maybe Yachi, on a good day.

If anyone knew where Tsukishima had disappeared to, it was probably Yamaguchi, Shouyou reasoned. He made his way to the attic.

There, Yamaguchi was seated on the floor, his back to the opening. He turned around when he heard the door being pushed open, blinking at Shouyou. “Hinata,” he said, then smiled. “What are you doing up here?”

“I came to see you!” Shouyou pulled himself up through the opening, closing the door behind him. He loved the fact that you had to take a ladder to get inside. Attics were so cool. “Well, actually, I came to see where Tsukishima is, but I came to see you too.”

On the floor in front of them, Yamaguchi had laid out three different books—spell books, probably—and surrounded himself with different jars and bowls of things. Shouyou had no idea what any of them were, but he got the gist of it. “Whatchya making?”

“Um,” Yamaguchi glanced at the mess around him, “Daichi-san asked me if I could figure out a spell to make Karasuno less…noticeable.”

“Noticeable?”

“Like, I guess invisible? But the only thing I could find only makes it _less_ easy to find, not impossible. Like, you have to think really hard to see it, and you have to be searching for it, so you can’t just come across it randomly.” He frowned. “I don’t think it’s what he wanted, though.”

“Oh.” Shouyou sat a few feet away from Yamaguchi, taking care not to mess anything up. “What’s he want the spell for?”

“Didn’t say.”

“You think it’s got to do with Kuroo?”

Yamaguchi frowned deeper. He looked away. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Most things had to do with Kuroo those days. Shouyou wasn’t bitter about it—he wasn’t even upset over it, really. He didn’t understand Kuroo, and sure, he didn’t know the guy very well, but Kenma loved him. He accepted what Kuroo had done (if it had been someone Shouyou loved, he thought, someone he loved as much as Kuroo loved Kenma—he would’ve done the same thing) and he wasn’t angry anymore. He just wished Daichi wasn’t so shaken up about it.

“Anyway,” Yamaguchi said, wiping his hands on his jean and leaving streaks of yellow powder behind, “what do you need Tsukishima for?”

“I need to talk to him.”

“What about?”

Shouyou smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I can’t tell you yet. Not until I talk to him at least, so I really need to find him.”

“Well…” Yamaguchi shut one of the books, but not before dog-earring the page. “He’s in Daichi’s office right now, I think.”

“Doing what?”

“Vision things, probably. Psychic stuff.” He shrugged. “He doesn’t talk about it a lot.”

“Oh,” Shouyou said. “Can I hang out with you until he comes back?”

Yamaguchi smiled. “If you’re quiet.”

 

\--

 

“So,” Bokuto said around his mouthful of apple, “what I’m gettin’ from this is that you don’t want us livin’ with you anymore.”

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ you to live with me,” Tetsurou explained, reluctantly taking the slice Bokuto offered to him. He held it between his thumb and index finger, not eating it. “I just don’t want to keep you guys from working, you know? Your job for me is done. You didn’t have to stay this long.”

It had been over a month since they’d helped Tetsurou find Kenma again, and yet the duo was still crashing in his apartment. Why they would _want_ to, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like his place was any better than their cabin out in the middle of nowhere. He was sure their own home had more privacy than his, at the very least.

Bokuto reached across the table, clapping Tetsurou’s hand with a wide palm comfortingly. “It’s totally okay, dude. We wanted to stay. Right, Akaashi?”

From the couch, Akaashi barely managed a hum in response. He seemed fond of sleeping in the living room during broad daylight, smothered in blankets. That was another demon thing that Tetsurou had never fully asked about, mostly because it seemed rude. He assumed they were nocturnal. Or, at the very least, Akaashi Keiji was.

“See?” Bokuto turned back to Tetsurou, giving him a wide smile. “We like stayin’ with you. You’re my best bro, bro.”

Akaashi made another vague noise of agreement, quieter. Tetsurou offered a grin.

“I can’t argue with that.” It dropped soon after, though, because those didn’t seem to last very long anymore. “I still think you should get back to your normal lives. I only paid you for the raid, and I can’t afford much else. I can handle finding Kenma again on my own.”

Bokuto frowned, twisting his mouth contemplatively. He cut another slice from his apple, knife turned away from him. Tetsurou kept thinking he would nick his thumb, but he never did. “If money’s the issue, dude...”

He trailed off. Tetsurou leaned back, swallowing a heavy sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. It only succeeded in making his hair messier, and did nothing to ease the tension in his shoulders the way he’d hoped it would. “I’m not gonna make you guys do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making us,” Akaashi chimed in, the first verbal addition to their conversation all night. The demon undid himself from his makeshift nest of blankets—all scavenged from the darkest corners of Tetsurou’s closet and the Walgreen’s a few block away—and made his way towards the kitchenette. He stood in front of their table, not sitting down. “Right!” Bokuto gestured to his partner excitedly, like it was obvious that would be enough to convince Tetsurou that it was okay if he didn’t pay them in full. “Even Akaashi thinks so.”               

Tetsurou frowned further. “Still, it’s not right to work you guys so hard for nothing in return. Pretty shitty thing of me to do, I think.”

The two of them didn’t respond to his statement for a moment, Bokuto clearly thinking of the best way to sway his opinion, while Akaashi was watching the way Bokuto cut his apple slices and all but skewered them with the knife.                   

“Kenma was our friend too,” Akaashi said, his voice soft. “You’re not the only one that misses him.”                   

Tetsurou knew that, logically. Of _course_ he wasn’t the only one that wanted Kenma back, of course he wasn’t the only one that missed him and thought about him every time they saw a pack of hair dye or a jar of herbs or an old Nintendo. Kenma had been, however subtly, the brightest thing in Tetsurou’s life. He bled into other people’s. Of course Tetsurou wasn’t the only person that had mourned. Of course he wasn’t the only one _still_ mourning.

It was hard to remember that though, when it had affected him so fully, so much deeper than the rest of them; he couldn’t speak entirely for his friends, but he knew from the pitying looks and the financial aid that they knew Kenma’s death hadn’t had the same impact on their lives as it had on Tetsurou’s. It hadn’t shattered them. It hadn’t bled them dry. They knew, and they pitied Tetsurou for it.

He didn’t think they would have gone to the same lengths as he did just to get Kenma back. They helped, and he was forever grateful for that, but—were Tetsurou not here, they wouldn’t have done something so stupid and reckless as to attack a group of monsters in the middle of a performance, kidnap an innocent child, and leave said child in shit-all nowhere. Tetsurou wasn’t proud that he’d done that—there were a million things Tetsurou had done that he wasn’t proud of—but it happened, and he’d do it again if it meant even a second more with Kenma, even in a borrowed body.

Bokuto put the knife down and Tetsurou picked it up. He chewed the slice he’d been given in silence. He didn’t have anything but a shitty, twelve- year-old flip phone and a broken watch, so he had to lean over the table to turn Bokuto’s phone on to check the time.

“I know,” he eventually said. He slid the phone back towards its owner. “But this isn’t your fight, and I’m keeping you guys from time you could be working.” He didn’t want to admit how guilty he felt about that aspect of it, but it was the largest part that had been eating at him. He couldn’t afford to keep paying them for their services, even if their help _would_ make tracking Karasuno down again easier. They deserved a client that would actually pay them for their work.

“We already said it’s okay if—“

“I don’t want that.”

Bokuto looked surprised that Tetsurou had interrupted him. The witch let out a breath, somewhere between a harsh sigh and a huff.

“I”m sorry,” he said. “And I’m super fuckin’ thankful for the offer, don’t get me wrong. But I’d feel horrible if I couldn’t pay you. And I’ve found him once already--I’m sure the second time’ll be easier.” He tried for a grin at the end, but he wasn’t sure how genuine it came out.

The two exchanged looks, ones that obviously meant they were trying to decide whether or not to keep pushing. Bokuto leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Despite his posture, his face was serious.

“Okay. We’ll leave and let you do your own thing, but,” he held up a finger, “on one condition.”

Tetsurou nodded. “Okay, shoot.”

“I want to help you find them before we leave. Like, I’m sure they’ve moved on by now, since they’re a traveling circus and all—so it could be kind of hard to pinpoint where they are and get there before they leave again.” Akaashi nodded once in agreement to the request.

Tetsurou looked between them, and felt himself deflate. “Fine,” he gave in. “You guys are too supportive for your own good.”

“Damn straight we are!” Bokuto was grinning, and for a few seconds, it made everything feel like normal.

 

\--

 

“What do you want,” Tsukishima deadpanned, not looking annoyed so much as tired. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders drooping.

Shouyou moved out of way for Tsukishima to open the door to his bedroom. “I need to talk to you about something super important.”

Tsukishima sighed heavily, like even the mention of it was draining him. He twisted his door open and disappeared into his room. Shouyou stood at the threshold for a second, trying to gauge whether or not it was okay for him to enter. When Tsukishima gave him a pointed look, Shouyou scrambled inside, closing the door behind him.

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima’s shared bedroom was surprisingly messy. Shouyou hadn’t thought of Yamaguchi as a particular tidy person, but he’d sort of assumed that with Tsukishima living there, it wouldn’t get _too_ bad. He was dead wrong. It was a struggle just finding anywhere to step; the only places that seemed to be spared from the mess were the twin beds on each side of the room.

“What’d you go to talk to Daichi-san about?”

“Nothing.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses up irritably. “Are you going to talk about what you came here for or are you going to keep wasting my time?”

Shouyou frowned, putting his hands on his hips, but he couldn’t look Tsukishima in the eyes. Instead, he focused on a spot a few inches to the left of the psychic’s face, shuffling his feet nervously. “It’s about, um, the thing. With Kuroo.”

“I already know about Kenma.”

“ _What_?!”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “I’m a psychic. Of course I knew something was going on.” He paused. “Daichi told me what you told him.”

“…Oh.” That made sense, Shouyou guessed, that Tsukishima would already know, and that Daichi would end up telling him. Shouyou just wished _he_ had been informed about this, instead of standing here feeling like an idiot.

“If that’s all you came here for—“

“Yamaguchi said that you’ve been having bad dreams again,” Shouyou rushed to say before he could be kicked out. It wasn’t a lie, although Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at him like it was.

In the attic, Yamaguchi had looked worried, distracted as he continued what he was doing, and even Shouyou could see that there was something weighing on the witch. He’d offered to listen, granted Yamaguchi wanted to talk about it. Yamaguchi had sighed, bit his lip, and eventually relented. According to him, Tsukishima had woken up early that morning in cold sweat, really shaken up about a dream he’d had. Yamaguchi confided that it wasn’t the first dream like this that Tsukishima had in the past few weeks—“They were supposed to stop,” he’d said, eyebrows furrowed. It always surprised Shouyou just how much Yamaguchi cared about Tsukishima. “We all thought it was just about Kuroo, you know? But Kuroo’s gone and he’s _still_ having them. They’ve gotten a lot worse, too. I don’t know how to help him, and Daichi is really freaked out about it…”

He’d stopped there, looking guilty like he’d let something slip that he shouldn’t have. Shouyou had nodded, understanding when things were and were not safe to push, and offered Yamaguchi a comforting smile. They’d changed the subject after that, but Shouyou kept the information at the forefront of his mind for when he found Tsukishima.

Now, said boy fixed his glasses again.

“Okay,” he said slowly, like he was trying to figure out what Shouyou was getting at.

“He was really upset about it,” Shouyou continued, because that seemed the best way to go about it. “So he was talking about it with me. And I just…wanted to know if they had to do with Kenma. Or me? I mean, that sounds, like, super self-centered but Suga-san said that you’d said I was,” he did quotes in the air, “’important’ or something when I first got here. And Suga’s been acting strange too…”

“They’re not about you.” Tsukishima _tsk_ ’d. After a moment, he added, “Not…entirely, at least.”

“Oh.” Shouyou wasn’t sure whether or not he was meant to feel relieved. “That’s good. Probably.”

“Kenma’s in them. Sometimes.”

That felt like information he should have given earlier, but Shouyou didn’t say that. He was doing good so far, he thought, to get Tsukishima to talk this much about it, and he didn’t want to mess it up by complaining. “Really? What does that mean?”

Behind him, he could feel the chill of Kenma arriving. He must have gotten bored of hanging out by himself in their room and decided to go looking for Shouyou again. Out of the corner of his eye, Shouyou saw the flicker of his ghost, until Kenma came fully into view. He blinked between Shouyou and Tsukishima like he couldn’t believe the two were talking, but he didn’t say anything.

Tsukishima didn’t roll his eyes again, but he looked like he wanted to. “That’s what I was talking to Daichi about.” He crossed his arms, mumbling. “Obviously.”

Shouyou frowned. “Okay, I was just _asking_. I’m just worried about it, ya know? Everyone’s been acting super tense and weird, and then Yamaguchi tells me you’ve been having bad dreams or visions or whatever for no reason, and we’re moving around all the time and no one will even tell me _why_ we’re moving—“

“Shouyou,” Kenma placated, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Calm down.”

“…Yeah.” Shouyou saw Tsukishima’s eyebrow twitch in confusion at the word. He released a long breath to calm himself down before explaining, “Kenma’s here,” and waving to the spot next to him. “Say hi.”

Tsukishima didn’t say hi, but he did look where Shouyou gestured.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Shouyou said, “thanks, I guess, and, um, sorry for wasting your time. I just wanted to make sure you knew about Kenma.”

He turned to walk out the door, wondering who else Daichi had told about his ghost. Six people knew at Karasuno about Kenma now, but that was still so little of them. When would he find the time to tell the rest of them? Would everyone react as well as Tsukishima and Kageyama had?

Kenma trailed behind him, and neither of them said anything until they were back in their room, the door shut behind them. Shouyou flopped face first down on his mattress, tired despite how early in the day it was.

“That went,” Kenma paused to think, “well.”

Shouyou groaned, muffled in the sheets. He turned to look at Kenma where the other was standing next to the bed. “I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay,” he grumbled. “But nobody will _tell me anything_.”

Kenma didn’t respond, but part of Shouyou figured he understood that feeling—being left out of the loop, treated like you’re too young or naïve to know what’s happening around you under the pretense of trying to keep you from getting involved. Shouyou didn’t care if he was put in more danger by knowing—although he wasn’t even sure that was possible at this point; he’d already been kidnapped, could it really get that much worse from there?—he just wanted to know what was going on. It was his life too. He had a right to know.

“Whatever,” he said to his pillow. “Let them keep me in the dark! See if _I_ care!”

Kenma only sighed.

 

\--

 

Tetsurou didn’t live in the most secure neighborhood, but he’d never been scared of anything happening while walking home at night. His years with Bokuto and Akaashi had trained him how to deal with sudden attacks, and he was pretty confident that anyone that was going to try to _mug_ him in the middle of the night wasn’t going to do a very thorough job of it. He could take them, he was sure.

Which was why it was such a shock when he felt a gun pressed to the back of his head and his arms seized up.

“Kuroo Tetsurou?” a man said from behind him. The gun pressed further into his head, nudging him forward. “You _are_ Kuroo Tetsurou, aren’t you?”

Was he supposed to respond to that? Tetsurou licked his lips, but that was about the extent of his movement. His arms were locked at his sides, bound by invisible ties, and when he tried to shuffle his feet, they felt like lead. _Magic_.

The gun nudged him again. The man behind it sighed, like he was already tired of this. “Nod once if you are.”

Tetsurou nodded stiffly. It hurt to move his muscles even that much. He had a suspicion that speaking would’ve been nearly impossible—let alone screaming.

“Sorry about this,” the man said, directly before knocking the gun into the back of Tetsurou’s head so hard that he blacked out.

 

\--

 

While Tetusurou had never been kidnapped before, he had sort of figured that those who were, were not kept in the most comfortable environments—but the room he woke up in was lush, with a wide ceiling and a velvet couch. The windows were large and overlooking a mountain, and above him hung a huge, expensive-looking chandelier. _Perfect for dropping on me_.

A quick tug proved that his hands were bound behind his back, his feet in the same situation. There were no ties. He was dealing with magic again.

“Look who’s awake.” The lights in the room were dim, leaving it difficult to see the face of Tetsurou’s captor—but as the man glided forward, he could see the glint of sharp teeth clearly.

The vampire stopped a few feet in front of Tetsurou, close enough to reach out and snap at if he wanted to, but he didn’t seem scared of Tetsurou in the slightly. He bent down on his knees so they were eye level, like he was speaking to a child, and cocked his head to the side. From this close, Kuroo made out pointed ears and bright, vulturine eyes.

“You’re not speaking to me?” the vampire asked, mock-offended. He outstretched his arm; Tetsurou flinched back in reflex. “Calm down, witch. I’m not aiming to hurt you right now.”

“That’s funny,” Tetsurou tugged on invisible binds again, “considering where I am. You weren’t aiming to hurt me earlier, were you, with that gun to my head?”

“Gun?” The vampire blinked. “Oh. _Oh_ , you mean when we acquired you. Oh, no, that wasn’t _me_.” He laughed, like the notion was ridiculous. “I was off running my own errands, you know. Iwa-chan came and got you, although I didn’t tell him _specifically_ to threaten your life. I just said I needed you here one way or the other. You can blame him for his methods.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m—what, being held hostage?” Tetsurou’s eyes darted away from the vampire’s face and around the room. He was sitting on the ground with his legs folded underneath him. They were beginning to fall asleep. “What do you even want with me?”

“I wouldn’t say _‘_ held hostage.’ We’re not currently trying to get anything from anyone—at least, not like _that_.”

Tetsurou grit his teeth. Outside the window, the sky was pitch black, not even a moon in the darkness. It had been night when he’d blacked out. There was no way of telling how long he’d been here.

“Don’t get me wrong.” The vampire stood up, dusting imaginary dirt off of his pants. From there, he towered over Tetsurou. “We have a reason; it’s just not as,” he pressed a finger to his chin in thought, “ _greedy_ as you’re thinking it is. We don’t want money.”

“Then what _do_ you want?”

“Information.”

Tetsurou deflated. “ _Of_ course you do. Look, buddy, I don’t have anything you’re looking for—“

“I find that hard to believe.” The vampire set a hand on his hip, looking somehow far more authoritative that way. He had an arrogance about him like he knew he’d already won. It made Tetsurou struggle against the binds a little bit more. “You’re the monster that attacked Karasuno, right, Kuroo Tetsurou?”

“I’m not— _FUCK_!”

The vampire _tsk_ ’d disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t lie to me, Tetsu-chan. See, that’s not just binding magic you’re stuck in right now. Every time you lie, you get a little _shock_ ,” he clapped his hands together, “just like that. But I should warn you, the bigger the lie, the more it hurts. If it gets too bad, you could die from it.”

The vampire’s grin was wide and horrifying. “So try to tell the truth, ‘kay?”

 

\--

 

At the same time, miles away, Tobio showed up at Hinata’s door.

The clock in his room had read 12:04 A.M. when he’d finally pulled himself out of bed, but he had been wandering around the house for a while now and without any clocks in the hallways, he had no way to tell what time it was. He figured it was late, though, when he finally found the courage to knock on Hinata’s door.

It took him two seconds of waiting before he realized just how stupid he was being. “Idiot,” he grumbled, turning around to stalk downstairs, maybe rummage around the kitchen to feed and keep himself busy, but he heard the creak of a bed on the other side of the door, and then footsteps on hardwood. A head of red curls popped out between a crack in the door, and Hinata blinked at his visitor.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asked, his voice slurred like he’d been asleep. Tobio swallowed the wave of guilt he felt; he hadn’t meant to wake anyone up. For some reason, he’d just _assumed_ that Hinata wouldn’t have been asleep…

_Idiot_.

“Nothing,” he snapped. “It’s…nothing. Go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.”

Hinata opened the door all the way. Tanaka had lent him some extra clothes when he first got here, meant to be given back once they’d expanded his wardrobe, but over time Hinata must have adopted them, because Tobio very distinctly remembered seeing Tanaka wear the shirt that was currently sliding off one of Hinata’s shoulders.

He had freckles on his collarbones. _Oh my god._

“Well, I’m already awake now, so you might as well tell me what you came here for,” Hinata said around a yawn. Tobio frowned.

“It’s…” He refrained from saying _nothing_ again. He didn’t know why he’d come here. He was tired. He was lonely. It was midnight and he couldn’t sleep and no one else was awake and, for some reason, his first thought had been to go see Hinata. He wanted some semblance of normal, maybe—that banter they’d fall into, as smoothly and easily as if they’d been doing it for years. He’d only met Hinata two months ago, a month and a half if he were being technical, Tobio realized. He barely knew the shapeshifter, but everything felt so—old. And familiar.

He hadn’t _come there_ for anything. He’d just wanted to see Hinata.

“Sorry for waking you,” he said again, because telling the truth might have actually killed him. There was no way he’d ever be able to tell Hinata that he… _wanted_ to hang out. To just be together. To talk.

Hinata frowned: a bad look on him. He wrapped a hand around Tobio’s wrist and yanked him inside the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Stop bein’ a baby,” he fussed. “Just tell me what’s up. Why’re you up this late?”

Tobio willed himself to calm down. It wasn’t a big deal, he told himself, he was just in Hinata’s room. He’d been in here a bunch of times before, and it hadn’t bothered him, so this shouldn’t either. “I couldn’t sleep. I was just…taking a walk.”

“Around the house?”

“Yes,” he said, a little defensively.

“Oh.”

They looked at each other for a moment, until Tobio couldn’t stand keeping eye contact and had to focus on a spot behind the other. Hinata seemed to realize they were just standing in the middle of the room; he moved to sit on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him invitingly.

Tobio stared at it. “What?”

“Sit down,” Hinata told him. “You look super weird just standing there and glaring like that.”

“Shut up.” But he did as he was told. He very carefully left space between them, fearful of their knees knocking or thighs touching. That had happened before, a couple of times, and it had left a weird taste in Tobio’s mouth. He tried to avoid touching after that, but Hinata was such a physical person that it was sometimes inevitable.

Like now, where Hinata pulled his legs up onto the bed and crossed them, so his knee was touching Tobio’s. Tobio moved away as subtly as he could, but not subtly enough; Hinata frowned, looking offended.

“Why do you always act like you’re scared of me?” he asked.

Tobio stopped fidgeting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do, liar.” Hinata huffed. “You always move away when I get close to you and you never want to sit with me at meals anymore.”

Wouldn’t it have been weirder if Tobio _wanted_ to sit next to Hinata during meals? At least that was what he’d assumed. They’d made an accidental habit out of it before, but since the raid he’d made a conscious effort to sit elsewhere. Tobio hadn’t realized Hinata noticed the change.

“I’m not _scared_ of you, dumbass,” Tobio settled on saying, when he couldn’t find a better retort. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look as irritated and _not_ embarrassed as possible. “I just…don’t like touching. That’s all.”

“You touch Suga,” Hinata pointed out, almost accusatory.  

“That’s.” Tobio frowned. “Different.”

“How?”

“I’ve known him longer.”

Hinata uncrossed his legs just to pull his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. The two weren’t touching that way, so Tobio should’ve been relieved—but he was only confused. Wasn’t Hinata the one asking why Tobio always avoided contact? Why was he pulling away now?

“So, if we’d known each other as long as you’ve known Suga,” Hinata started slowly, “then you’d be okay with us touching?”

“I…” Tobio frowned. “I guess?”

That didn’t seem to be the answer Hinata wanted, if the way he didn’t respond for a long moment was any indicator, but Tobio wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say. Of course Suga was different. He was the one who saved Tobio, after all; he was the one who gave Tobio a home. Hinata had only been in Tobio’s life for a very short amount of time—and it certainly didn’t help that every time Hinata got too close, Tobio’s brain short circuited and his tongue turned to lead.

“Any reason you couldn’t sleep?” Hinata asked, changing the subject.

Tobio shrugged. “Not really. This is…normal.”

A stupid, useless thing to confess, he thought, but there it was anyway. Hinata seemed to realize it was a confession and not a statement; he hugged his knees tighter and nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, like he understood. Tobio wasn’t sure how someone like him _could_ understand. He was always so…unaffected by everything, always so optimistic and energetic despite the reality of their situation. That was part of why it was such a shock when Hinata’s trauma started showing up in his shapeshifting, though.

What did they do to him, those few hours he was kidnapped? Tobio wondered about it a lot. Hinata hadn’t been very specific when he talked about it; he’d only said that they hadn’t hurt him, that he was okay. But _something_ must have happened, Tobio figured, for Hinata’s trauma to manifest so oddly, so intensely.

Kenma must have been there when they captured him, Tobio realized. He’d been here this whole time, of course he would’ve witnessed Hinata being held hostage.

“What happened,” Tobio started, and his voice cracked. Hinata looked up at him curiously, and Tobio tried again. “What happened before we found you?”

Thankfully, Hinata understood what he was asking without any more elaboration. He shrugged nonchalantly, like the entire thing hadn’t been anything but a minor inconvenience.

“Well, they did this weird transport-type thing from Karasuno to their house, and while I was shapeshifted I just sort of…hung around, I guess? And listened to them talk. And…” He paused, looking distant for a split second before he came back to himself. “That was basically it.”

“They never hurt you?”

“Nope.” Hinata grinned, leaning over to nudge Tobio’s side. “Why, were you _worried_ about me?”

“Of course I wasn’t,” he snapped, nudging Hinata back without thinking about it. It turned into a small fight—although Tobio wouldn’t call it that, considering they were doing nothing but nudging each other—until Tobio returned to the original subject. “Something else happened there that you aren’t talking about.”

Hinata blinked at him.

Tobio fidgeted. “Am I right?”

For a second, he thought he had been wrong in his observation—that the vacant look Hinata had worn was from nothing but tiredness, that the touchiness surrounding the topic back when it first happened was only due to how recent it had been. But then Hinata turned away, his shoulders deflating.

“It’s a super long story,” he mumbled. “And most of it’s not even mine…”

“Whose is it, then?”

Tobio felt the room drop a few degrees. Hinata shrugged. “Kenma’s. Kuroo’s. Daichi’s and Suga’s and Asahi’s, too, I think.”

That was a longer list than Tobio had been expecting. He watched the other, trying to gauge whether or not to continue prodding about it, and he’d just made his mind up on going back to bed and pretending they’d never had this conversation when Hinata’s hand touched his.

“Kenma’s here,” he said. He squeezed Tobio’s hand gently, and Tobio didn’t pull away. “He says that it’s okay if I tell you.”

Tobio swallowed and licked his lips. Hinata’s hand was warm, ridiculously so; or maybe the room had just gotten colder. “All of it?”

Hinata nodded. “All of it.”

“Okay.” Tobio moved to pull his hand back, but thought better of it. Hinata looked so vulnerable like this somehow. If he let go, he was afraid Hinata would turn back to smiling and poking fun and he’d keep it all to himself—whatever _it_ was—and it would be too late for Tobio to reach his hand out again. “Shoot.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments keep us goin [finger guns]


	13. twisting the kaleidoscope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’ll be fine,” Suga eventually reassured, even if the words were aimed at himself too. “We’ve survived worse. In the morning, we can talk to Kageyama about this Oikawa guy and get everything straightened out. It probably isn’t that bad. I mean, it can’t be any more trouble than what we’re already dealing with.”
> 
> “Don’t jinx it.”
> 
> \--
> 
> This Chappie Is Too Sad For A Fake Summary Im Sorry
> 
> in other words: shit finally begins to hit the metaphorical wind mixer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're on time for once (lmao) so theres not much to say here. backstories kind of!! foreshadowing!! kagehina development and more explanations!! whooo!! it says were only 2 chapters away from the ending but its lookin more like 4 or 5 tbh
> 
> **CHAPTER TWs:** kidnapping again? but this time with like.....torture. this fic is earning its m rating

Koushi was in Daichi’s office when Yachi and Kiyoko returned from their trip into town, looking grimmer than one should for an errand run.

It wasn’t out of character for Yachi to fidget, flick her hair behind her ear nervously, or wring her hands while she spoke, but it was odd to see the behaviors all at once. She kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, leaning into Kiyoko subtly. Kiyoko didn’t comment on it, to her credit, but she didn’t look to be in much better shape than her partner. There was a crease in her eyebrows and a down turn of her lips that meant something was worrying her.

Daichi looked between the two of them standing in his office doorway and gestured for them to enter with a wave of his hand. Koushi stood up from his seat in front of Daichi’s desk to make room for the two. They took the seats, Yachi offering him an uncertain, grateful smile.

“What happened?” Daichi asked, folding his hands on the surface of his desk. He always looked too formal like that in Koushi’s opinion, but it was a habit he’d made a long time ago.

The witches exchanged glances. Kiyoko pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “We got everything we needed while we were there,” she said. “But we ran into something…odd on the way.”

Koushi assumed she was using _odd_ as a placeholder for _troubling_. Yachi nodded her head in agreement, but didn’t add anything.

Daichi frowned. “What do you mean?”

“While we were out, Yachi ran into someone…” Kiyoko pressed her lips together, cutting herself off. She nodded her head towards Yachi solemnly. “She should tell it. I wasn’t there for most of the conversation.”

Yachi looked like that was the last thing she wanted to do, but she crossed her ankles and continued to tell Daichi when he nodded at her in prompting. “Um, this…man—I think he was a vampire, but I didn’t ask—he ran into me while I was waiting for Kiyoko-san, and…” She paused. “He started talking about Karasuno, so I sort of just assumed he was a fan, but he was really scary, and while we were leaving he said…”

Daichi looked between her and Kiyoko, whose lips were still pursed somberly, and then to Koushi. Koushi met his eyes while Yachi found the right words.

“He acted like he knew Kageyama,” she said. “He called him ‘Tobio-chan.’”

Koushi remembered a little boy in the middle of nowhere with blood dripping down his chin. He frowned, coming to lean against Daichi’s desk almost protectively and crossing his arms.

“’Tobio-chan’?” Daichi repeated. “How would he know…?”

“We don’t know,” Kiyoko said. “That’s why it was so weird. I suppose he could be a friend of Kageyama’s that he just hasn’t told us about, but we thought in that case, you might know something.”

Koushi put a hand on Daichi’s shoulder unthinkingly. “We might. Did he give you a name?”

“Oikawa.”

“Only a family name?”

Yachi looked away, like it was somehow her fault that they didn’t know. She looked tiny in her chair, almost swallowed whole by the fabric, and her tensed shoulders didn’t help the illusion. “Yes, only that…”

“That’s great, Yacchan,” Koushi interrupted, offering her a smile he hoped was comforting. “A family name is all we need. I’m sorry you two had to deal with that.”

Daichi turned to Koushi, raising an eyebrow. “You know an Oikawa?”

“I know _of_ an Oikawa,” Koushi said. He mumbled, “Although, it would probably be better for all of us if I didn’t.”

Kiyoko’s hand made its way into Yachi’s slowly, probably to calm her. Koushi and Daichi politely pretended not to see while Kiyoko asked, “Is he dangerous?”

“Very.”

Daichi leaned back in his chair. “Fantastic.”

“I don’t have any idea what he would want with Kageyama,” Koushi continued, “or what he would want with Karasuno for that matter, unless there’s something Kageyama isn’t telling us.”

“Wh-what would there be that Kageyama-kun isn’t telling us?” Yachi’s free hand clutched at the chair’s arm, her eyes wide. She leaned forward, the tension in her shoulders dissipating in her worry. “Do you think there’s something wrong? Is that Oikawa guy going to try to hurt him?”

No one had an answer to that. Koushi squeezed Daichi’s shoulder and felt his boyfriend’s muscles relax, if only minutely. Kiyoko still held Yachi’s hand. They were an odd image, Koushi knew: two vampires, two witches, gathered in an office for business but saying nothing, holding onto each other. Koushi sighed, a loud sound in the otherwise complete silence.

“I don’t know a lot about him,” he started, “and I don’t know how he’s involved with Kageyama-kun, but…”

Daichi brought his hand to Koushi’s on his shoulder. “Anything helps.”

Kiyoko and Yachi didn’t say anything, holding their breath. Koushi tried for a smile.

“Okay,” he said. “But it’s not good news.”

 

\--

 

Oikawa Tooru was the current leader and past heir to Aoba Johsai: one of the current most famous monster-run crime organizations. Although small, they were fearsome, and viewed even by Corvum as dangerous. Koushi’s father used to sit around the living room, mumbling to himself or yelling on the phone about Aoba Johsai’s activity interfering with theirs. When Koushi was first forced to attend their meetings, he used to watch his father go quiet when someone brought up recent action or a target that got away because they had Aoba Johsai behind them for protection. They weren’t meant to mess with Aoba Johsai. The cost wasn’t worth the gain, his father said. They were better off coexisting—which ended up meaning Corvum did everything they could to avoid crossing paths.

When Koushi took over, he kept the tradition of keeping out of Aoba Johsai’s way. He didn’t know a lot about them at the time, except that the current leader was trying to decide on a successor for when he stepped down, and even that could be chalked up to false rumors circling around. Koushi didn’t care about it. As long as they didn’t interact, it wasn’t his business, nor his problem.

That being said, even after he ran away with Asahi and Daichi and built Karasuno, he couldn’t keep from hearing about what happened. The previous leader was murdered, some said, and by his own son.

_A family feud_ , voices across the street mumbled conspiratorially.

_Had it coming_ , _justified,_ others argued. _And did you hear what he did to his brother?_

It was around then that Koushi found Kageyama. He was a little boy, really: nothing more than a child with too much blood on his face. It was raining that day, Koushi remembered. It was raining, and he was a long way away from Karasuno and in the outskirts of town to scout the surrounding city, and rumors of Aoba Johsai were flying, and there was Kageyama, looking small and pathetic and completely, heartbreakingly lost.

It was cold. It might have been winter. Koushi didn’t know. At the time, it hadn’t been important. Kageyama was crying, but that was too light of a word for what it was. He was bleeding, too, from fresh wounds that would later scar, so grotesque and gory that at the time Koushi couldn’t see where the wounds ended and skin began. Whoever had done this—a wild animal or a monster’s bare claws or the jagged side of a knife—had wanted to tear as much skin as possible. They had succeeded.

He passed out. Koushi wanted to take him to an inn, some place close by where they could rest and treat this stranger’s injuries, but there were no monster-friendly motels nearby, and the chances of the police not being called on them were slim to none. In the end, he fished his cheap, emergencies-only flip phone from his bag and called Asahi.

Asahi came and got them, arriving half an hour later. Koushi treated the wounds with the extra First Aid kit they kept in the trunk of their car as they drove back towards Karasuno; the gashes weren’t life threatening, but if they weren’t treated right they would get infected or heal wrong. Koushi stopped the bleeding.

Kageyama woke up twice during the process. He must have been exhausted, Koushi thought; he must not have fed in a long, long time. Between consciousness, he would blink vacantly at Koushi, mumbling questions about where he was and who he was with and where was his brother? Where was Iwaizumi? Were they okay?

“You’re safe now,” Koushi had promised him. “We’re going to help you. Iwaizumi is okay. Everyone is okay. They’re safe.”

He had no idea who Iwaizumi was or why Kageyama was so worried. But it calmed Kageyama down, and when he woke up two hours later in Karasuno’s living room, he didn’t remember any part of their ride there.

Daichi wanted to press Kageyama, to find out more about where he came from and why he no longer had a home. He was only in his sixties, they found out (and that might have been part of why Koushi was so adamant on helping him; he remembered being that age, with what felt like the world on his shoulders. That was when he’d taken over Corvum. That was when he’d met Daichi; that was when he’d needed someone most); he really _was_ a child. But besides that and his name, Kageyama Tobio would tell them nothing.

He’d claimed, at the time, that he didn’t remember what happened. It was a blur, he said, he only remembered waking up outside of town. But in the weeks that followed, Koushi found him more than once wandering around the house while he thought everyone else was asleep, looking lost, mumbling something about his brother and his parents.

 

\--

 

Tetsurou was still alive, so that was probably a good thing.

The bad thing was that he wasn’t sure just how long he would stay that way. The shocks didn’t only come when he lied, he found out; there was a manual setting. If his mouth stayed shut too long, if he held his tongue or avoided the question, he would get a little jolt—except that the jolts weren’t _little_ anymore. The first couple of times hadn’t been that bad, he had dealt with worse—but as time went on and he stubbornly didn’t speak, they got worse, until they were so bad that he was left shaking and convulsing and vomiting.

He passed out at some point. He only knew this because when he woke his mouth tasted like ash and puke and he was aching all over, his arms falling asleep in the position they were in. He struggled to sit up right, his head reeling.

“What’s the day?” he asked on the off chance that his captor would tell him. The vampire would leave and return periodically, but when he came back this time, he did little else but sit with a leg crossed fashionably over the other and watch Tetsurou with unconcealed interest. The entire display was probably amusing to him: Tetsurou, beaten up and in pain, on the verge of passing out even as he forced himself upright.  

“Take a guess,” the vampire said. “I want to know how long you think you’ve been here. I might even tell you the truth.”

Tetsurou shrugged. The motion took more energy than he wanted to admit, and his shoulder muscles screamed in protest. “I don’t know. A month,” he offered.

His sense of time was weird here. He had been moved from his original room to a different one a while after he arrived; he didn’t know why, but he didn’t think he’d get an answer even if he asked. There were no windows or clocks—nothing to indicate any passing of time. But going off his natural sleeping schedule and the meals he was brought periodically, he would guess he’d only been here for a few days. A week at the very most, but even that was overdoing it.

“Three, actually.” The vampire leaned his elbow on his knee and propped his chin in the palm of a pale, slender hand. He was annoyingly beautiful, in a way that made Tetsurou grit his teeth and want to smash the asshole’s face in. How pretty could he be with a black eye, Tetsurou wondered.  

“Liar.” Tetsurou leaned against the wall the best he could in this position. It hurt to move too much, but he forced down a wince. He didn’t want to give the other the satisfaction of seeing how much pain he was in.

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Tetsu-chan,” the vampire chastised. “You could hurt my feelings.”

“We wouldn’t want that.”

“Not when you’re at my mercy, no, I imagine we wouldn’t.” He stood up. This room was much simpler than Tetsurou’s original location; it was comprised only of four naked walls, a door on the opposite side of the room, candles, a dark red, vomit-stained rug, and a chair. The door was probably protected with magic, but Tetsurou couldn’t be sure. The only time he’d tried to make his way to that side of the room, he’d gotten the same shock as if he’d lied, concentrated in his legs this time. His knees had buckled. He imagined that would happen any time he got too close to the exit.

_What a pain_.

He had to hand it to this guy, though: he was thorough. Tetsurou couldn’t use magic, even the simple things—he must have slipped a magic suppressor into Tetsurou’s food. The restraints on his arms came off only when he was allowed to use the bathroom, and his captor followed him even then. The bathroom was located directly across the hall from Tetsurou’s room, leaving him no time or space to scout the area for possible escape routes.

The only thing Tetsurou didn’t understand was why he wasn’t given a truth serum the same time he was given the suppressors. It made more sense to get information out of him using that method; all his captor would have to do then was ask a question and wait for an answer. It was infinitely more efficient than waiting until Tetsurou cracked or passed out.

Tetsurou could think of only two reasons he wouldn’t be given a serum. Considering the state of his earlier room and the advanced magic being used on him, his captor was not lacking in money or connections.

So, either he was low on supplies and couldn’t risk sparing a truth serum on someone like Tetsurou—

Or he wanted things to get messy.

“Do you know where Karasuno’s currently located, Tetsu-chan?” The vampire crossed the room in swift strides until he was right in front of his captive. The smile he gave Tetsurou was deceivingly close to civil. It was the kind you would give to strangers on the street or your waitress after you’ve ordered a cup of coffee.

“I don’t,” Tetsurou spat out after a long moment of staring at that disgustingly polite smile. That was all the vampire had asked about since he’d gotten here: how did you find Karasuno the first time? What did you have against them? What are their weaknesses? How many of them are there? A billion and one things. Most of them Tetsurou had no answer to. Sometimes he’d get a shock, just because his captor didn’t like that he didn’t know.

The other questions he asked were about Akaashi and Bokuto, but only in the loosest of terms; he only wanted to know where his accomplices currently were, probably to make sure they wouldn’t try to come _rescue_ him. It was a good thing Tetsurou didn’t know. For once, he thanked god that his friends’ job required them to travel so often.

Surprisingly, the vampire didn’t look displeased with Tetsurou’s answer. He only smiled wider; it moved from _civically beautiful_ to _predatory_ in a moment. “Would you _like_ to know?”

This was new. Tetsurou’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

He had asked that question a million times since he got here, but his captor had never answered. _You’ll find out later_ , he’d said. _Just be patient_.

This must have been the _later_ he had talked about, because the vampire clapped his hands together, never losing his smile.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he said, “current leader of Aoba Johsai, and the person you’re going to be working for, Tetsu-chan.”

 

\--

 

“Enjoyin’ the view?” Nishinoya clapped a hand on Shouyou’s shoulder, startling him.

Shouyou blinked. “What?”

The werewolf wiggled his eyebrows a few times before Shouyou’s blank expression caused his face to fall. “Aww, c’mon, Shou, you know what I mean.”

Shouyou really didn’t, but he nodded like he understood anyway. That only seemed to frustrate Nishinoya more; he took his hand off Shouyou’s shoulder to set it on his hip, shaking his head in disappointment. “Man, you’re even worse than Tanaka.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He waved it off with a flick of his wrist, before turning to look where Shouyou’s eyes were trained. “What’re you watching for?”

“It’s just fun.” Shouyou shrugged. Kageyama, Sugawara, and Ennoshita had disappeared after lunch to practice for the show before Karasuno relocated again, and Shouyou had followed them into the big top. Nishinoya usually practiced with them, but his part in this show was small enough that they didn’t need him yet. Hitoka was taking care of the animals right now.

Shouyou had seen the show before, but it was still incredible to watch them perform it again, even if they were out of costume and only practicing. They didn’t wear their masks when they weren’t in front of an audience; that might’ve been Shouyou’s favorite part of it. He got to see everyone’s expressions when they were like this, and their concentration was awe-inspiring. They were almost different people like this, Kageyama in particular. Here, there was no trace of his usual tension or reserve. Only an openness Shouyou wanted to see more of.

“It’s even funner to be the one doing it.” Nishinoya nudged Shouyou’s side with his elbow. “You ever thought about becoming one?”

“Becoming what?”

“An acrobat,” he said. “Or, like, at least a _part_ of the show. You could even do the animal stuff with Yachi if you wanted to. The tigers are pretty cool—of course, not as cool as swingin’ around on the trapeze, but still, not bad.”

_Daichi wants us to be partners_.

“Being an acrobat doesn’t sound so bad,” Shouyou mumbled.

Nishinoya let out a whoop, clapping him on the back in approval, but Shouyou wasn’t really listening anymore. The two of them watched the others practice, until Asahi found them and asked Nishinoya to help him with something or another, and then Shouyou was alone. He wasn’t sure how long he watched them, but Sugawara came up to him while they were taking a break.

“Hinata! How are you?” Suga was maybe the only person on the planet who could still look good while his bangs were tied back from his forehead with bobby pins and a star clip that might have been Hitoka’s. Shouyou stood up from where he’d been sitting in the audience’s seats.

“I’m fine,” he said, glancing behind Suga where Kageyama and Ennoshita were in what looked to be a serious conversation. From how often Kageyama was nodding, it was probably about the performance. Shouyou looked back to Suga. “You guys are really amazing!”

Suga laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “It’s still kind of rough, but I’m glad you think that. About that…I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about, if you don’t mind.”

Ennoshita and Kageyama were done speaking. Ennoshita disappeared with his empty water bottle, probably to refill it. Kageyama sat down heavily on the floor, a towel wrapped around his neck, and caught Shouyou’s eye.

“Hinata-kun?”

“Sorry!” Shouyou turned back to Suga, his face warm. “What’s up?”

Sugawara glanced behind him to see what Shouyou had been so focused on and returned with a sly look on his face. “If you’re too…distracted right now, it can wait—“

“No! No, it’s fine, I’m fine,” Shouyou rushed to assure. _God_ , was he blushing? He was definitely blushing. He needed to stop waving his hands around so much, he was sure he looked even guiltier like that, _Jesus Christ_. “Wh-what do you need to talk to me about, Suga-san?”

Suga pressed his lips together, but Shouyou could tell he was still hiding a smile. “Well, I—we, I mean, Daichi, Asahi, and I—have been wondering if you’ve given more thought to staying.”

Shouyou didn’t hesitate for long, but his expression must have tipped the other off. Suga elaborated, “I know it’s kind of a weird time to be talking about that, what with everything that’s been happening and how… _hectic_ things are, but…”

“I want to stay.” Shouyou paused. “If…if that’s okay with you guys,” he added.

“That’s more than okay with us!” Suga beamed, and the sincerity in his excitement surprised Shouyou.

The knowledge that he was _wanted_ here…His own face split into a wide grin, mirroring Suga’s naturally.

“Of course, you remember when you first got here we mentioned that you’re not really staying here for free,” Sugawara said, “since eventually you’ll have to start working, either with maintenance and the like or as a performer. We aren’t _really_ educators, but we have basic homeschooling.” He stopped to think. “What grade were you in before you ran away?”

Shouyou had to think about it before remembering. It was always odd to think about how completely normal his life had been before two months ago. “I was a first year in high school,” he answered.

“That works out perfectly then. You’ll be in the same class as Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, and Kageyama. Although we use the term _class_ very loosely…”

Sugawara continued like that for a while, explaining the logistics of Shouyou staying at Karasuno. They’d have to go shopping for an actual wardrobe for him soon, Suga said, and if he wanted they could get more things for his room. Suga almost seemed more excited about it then Shouyou.

It wasn’t long before they got back to the subject of Shouyou’s work.

“Did you have anything in mind?” Suga asked. “If you want to, you can continue helping Yachi with the animals, or if there’s anything else you want to do…”

“If it’s okay with you guys,” Shouyou said, “I want to be an acrobat.”

“That’s _more_ than okay with us,” Suga echoed. His smile now was softer, more paternal.

Ennoshita had returned with his water bottle, and behind Suga, Kageyama pulled himself off the ground. He caught Shouyou’s eye again before looking away just as quickly, something embarrassed about the movement. Sugawara went back to practice a moment later, leaving Shouyou alone again to watch.

 

\--

 

Daichi didn’t sleep well that night, and Suga noticed.

“Stop worrying so much,” Suga mumbled, his face buried in a pillow. Daichi sighed heavily, running a hand through his short hair, and rolled over so he was facing his boyfriend.

“I’m not worrying,” he insisted. “I’m just having trouble…winding down. Things have been hectic lately, you know that.”

Suga cracked open one eye just to give Daichi a _look_. “Sure you aren’t.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“I will,” Daichi huffed, shutting his eyes and pulling the covers over him further.

It wasn’t even five minutes before Suga let out a long sigh, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at his boyfriend with a raised eyebrow. They’d only gotten into bed half an hour ago and his hair was already sticking up at odd angles. His bedhead was always endearingly horrible.

“You can talk about it if you want, Daichi. You know I’m here to listen.” His voice was soft, not quite a whisper but quiet enough that none of their hall-neighbors would be able to hear them. He smiled gently. “I’m worried about it too.”

Daichi only looked at him for a while, taking in the quiet sight of his best friend and mate. They were _mates_ : soulmates, lifemates, all the messy bits in between. Daichi had been born human, so when he’d first been turned and was still getting used to this new life of his, he hadn’t understood it. Vampires—and other slow-aging monsters—didn’t _date_ the way humans did; they didn’t have one night stands just to relieve stress or live a little; they didn’t end a relationship after a few months if it wasn’t working out. A year with someone was considered a fling, disposable. Anything short of a decade was still the honeymoon phase. Creatures that lived to be 400 years old on average chose a partner and stuck with them, and that was that.

It had been overwhelming, when Daichi first entered a relationship with Suga, because he wasn’t yet used to the way vampires worked, the little cultural differences that made a huge impact when given more than a fleeting thought. Suga’s love had become all-encompassing, very quickly. From the get go, he had intended to spend the rest of his (hopefully hundreds of) years with Daichi, while Daichi was still taking life one day at a time.

But it had been almost two decades since then, and Daichi had adjusted to his body and his time and _this_. He understood why Suga thought and felt what he did when they’d first started dating. He understood it particularly well now, he thought, seeing the crease of worry in Suga’s forehead and the warmth of their legs pressed together under the covers.

“Kageyama has been hiding something from us,” Daichi said, reaching his right hand out to take Suga’s. Suga let him, tangling their fingers slowly. “He’s been hiding something, and for a long time. I mean—Suga, he’s been here _nine years_. He was the youngest member we’ve ever recruited, and he’s been keeping something from us this whole time.”

“I know what you mean.” Suga squeezed Daichi’s hand in comfort.

“Has he never tried to talk to you about…?”

“Never.” Suga bit his lip. “I’ve let him know that he can talk to me, and he used to…open up, sometimes, but he never talked about his life before we found him. He used to say he didn’t remember.”

Daichi released a slow breath, somewhere between a huff and a sigh. “That kid worries me.”

“Be careful, Dai, you’re starting to sound like a parent.”

“You know what I mean.” Despite his words, Daichi allowed a smile. Suga reached over to give him a chaste peck—except Daichi took the opportunity to pull him forward and it turned less chaste. When they eventually pulled away, Suga on his back with Daichi hovering over him, they didn’t say anything, only looking at each other in the dark and revealing in the other’s company.

“I’m worried about Hinata,” Suga broke the silence, weaving his fingers through Daichi’s hair to play with it absentmindedly.

“Because of Kenma?”

He shook his head. “Kenma’s…a good person. A good witch. They care too much about each other for me to worry about them.”

“So…” Daichi rolled over to lay down next to Suga again, tired of propping himself up. To compensate, he pulled Suga forward by the hips until they were chest-to-chest and sharing warmth again. “If not that, what’s wrong?”

“Him and Kageyama…”

“What about them?”

“You’ve seen them, haven’t you?” Suga frowned, his eyebrows knitting in concern. “They seem to have gotten very…close. They’re not really arguing anymore.”

Daichi’s expression mirrored Suga’s, this one in confusion. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, and then chuckled. “I thought you _wanted_ them to get along better. Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to get them to do this whole time?”

“Well, _yes_ , but…it’s…” Suga paused, regaining his thoughts. “Kageyama really likes Hinata. A lot.”

“And…?”

“And Hinata isn’t a vampire.” His face relaxed into something more pitying, more melancholy. “Daichi, Hinata is going to age, and he’s going to age _normally_. He’ll be grown up with his own life. He’ll _die_ before Kageyama is even an _adult._ ”

Daichi stayed silent for a while after that. It hadn’t occurred to him, this kind of situation. He knew there was a reason why vampires only dated other vampires, why groups like _Corvum_ were vampire-only, why they were so isolated from other types of monsters, why they were so closed off. He knew why, but he’d never seen the _reason_ why, been presented with it so plainly, right in front of him.

“It might be crueler,” Suga whispered, “for Hinata to like him back.”

A pause.

“They _have_ stopped arguing,” Daichi said in understanding. Suga closed his eyes and moved closer until he was nuzzling his nose in the crook of Daichi’s neck, his breath warm on Daichi’s skin.

“I should talk to Hinata,” he mumbled. “He’s still…new, to the monster world, vampires included. I don’t think he even realizes he likes Kageyama yet, but once he does, I doubt he’ll think about…”

“That,” Daichi offered. Sugawara was right, though. Hinata _wouldn’t_ think about it, Daichi was sure, and he didn’t trust that Kageyama would either. They were both so young, so new to this, all of this, that they would be ecstatic just to reach the starting line, overlooking the rest of the race in front of them.

At least with Kageyama, he’d grown up being told this—don’t fall in love with someone that isn’t a vampire; there’s only one way that story ends. By virtue of what he was, he’d known from the start that interacting with other monsters was dangerous, that there were consequences to it, that it could never go right. He must have prepared for it, Daichi thought; he _must_ have known this would, could happen.

But Hinata…Hinata knew so little. He had showed up at Karasuno, overflowing with questions and curiosity and a heart so full that it was near to bursting. He still had so many lessons to learn. Daichi didn’t want this to be one he learned the hard way, but Hinata wouldn’t think about it. When the time came for him to realize that they couldn’t have this, it would be a shock.  

Hinata would break Kageyama’s heart. But it would break Hinata’s too.

“We’re both worrying too much,” Daichi said. It wasn’t meant to be a joke, only an observation, but Suga laughed at the truth of it anyway. Daichi felt it against his neck, the sound directed into his collarbones. Even now, Suga’s laugh put him at ease. He ran a hand down the other’s back, keeping his touches light.

“It’ll be fine,” Suga eventually reassured, even if the words were aimed at himself too. “We’ve survived worse. In the morning, we can talk to Kageyama about this Oikawa guy and get everything straightened out. It probably isn’t _that_ bad. I mean, it can’t be any more trouble than what we’re already dealing with.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

He snorted. “You’re gonna jinx it by telling _me_ not to jinx it.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” Daichi grinned, and Suga pulled away enough to look at him, trying to suppress a smile. He was failing miserably, and it only made Daichi grin more.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Suga snorted. He didn’t call Daichi that very often, because they, along with Asahi, were co-founders and therefore the title of _boss_ was very loose and not one they could easily attach to just one person or the other, but Suga liked saying that just to annoy him. It did its job well.

“We should sleep now,” he said. A glance over his shoulder let him know the clock read 3:21 A.M. Their alarm went off at six.

Suga hummed, going back to his previous position with his face pressed into the crook of Daichi’s neck and his arms loosely hanging onto Daichi’s shoulders. “You’re probably right,” he admitted around a yawn.

Daichi opened his mouth to say _good night, Koushi,_ but there was the pounding of feet in the hallway, frantic footsteps nearing their door, and then a loud, unmissable knock.

They exchanged looks, switching from domestic to business in an instance, and crawled out of bed and to the door. On the other side, they found Yamaguchi brushing hair behind his ear nervously and fidgeting where he stood.

“Daichi-san!” he gasped, the moment the door was open. He sounded out of breath, like he’d run here. “A-and Suga-san!”

“What is it, Yamaguchi?” Suga asked, adopting that placating tone he seemed to reserve for these kinds of situations.

“There’s, um—“ Yamaguchi’s eyes flickered towards the window nervously. “Well, Tsukki woke me up with a really bad dream, which was already kind of weird…he-he had a dream that there was somebody outside, and since they’re usually right, we went to check and…”

Daichi’s eyes widened. “You _went to check_? Yamaguchi, I appreciate the concern, but you can’t do things like this by yourself. Where outside?”

“He’s passed out near the entrance,” Yamaguchi said, looking away guiltily. “But I wasn’t alone! I was with Tsukki, and he said that the person didn’t seem dangerous, based off his dream.”

That was a relief, however little. Suga put a hand on Daichi’s shoulder. “He’s unconscious?”

“Yes, and…” Yamaguchi expression turned grim. “There’s…something else about him.”

 

\--

 

Tetsurou woke up with a splitting headache, in a very comfortable, very orange bed.

His first thought was _jesus fucking Christ, this hurts_ ; his second was _holy shit, that actually happened_.

As it was, Tetsurou was resting in what seemed to be Karasuno’s guest room, completed by surprisingly plush pillows and absolutely no supervision, which was the weirdest part of this entire escapade. A lot of odd things had happened to him the past few days, so even this wasn’t surprising so much as it was disorienting.

He tried to sit up, but his head reeled and his vision blinked black. He laid back down with a groan, wishing his head would stop _fucking pounding_ , and screwed his eyes shut against the harsh light filtering in from the window.

He heard rather than saw the door open, and the quiet, light footsteps nearing his bedside. The person stopped there and for a long, excruciating moment, didn’t say anything.

Finally, a hesitant, pitchy voice said, “A-are you awake?”

Tetsurou blinked his eyes open against the light, making out the silhouette of a very lanky, very dark boy, who squirmed upon making eye contact. Tetsurou didn’t remember seeing him in the show during the raid, and wondered if he was new. The stranger continued, “I, um…brought you food. And painkiller, if you need it.”

He didn’t seem at all dangerous, which was a relief. Tetsurou had come here completely on a bargain, and maybe entirely against his better judgement. He would have liked to deal with the dangerous members a little later, preferably after his brain had stopped trying to pulse out of his skull.

“Thank you,” Tetsurou managed to say, gingerly pulling himself into a sitting position with his back against the headboard. The stranger offered a nervous smile, gesturing to the tray of assorted breakfast foods currently occupying the bedside table.

Tetsurou didn’t waste time eating. He ate quickly, and desperately, still unconvinced that he was safe here. The stranger left sometime while Tetsurou was throwing back the painkillers, mumbling, “I’ll be right back,” before scurrying out the door, all the while leaving it—surprisingly—open.

He’d worn the mask during the raid for a reason, and he guessed that had paid off; the boy didn’t seem to recognize him as anything but a stranger who’d shown up on their front lawn, if you could even call the patch of land they were occupying a _lawn_. But Daichi was here—and he certainly wouldn’t be in the same boat as the boy. Tetsurou closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rail, trying to keep calm. He didn’t have anything with him, so if they attacked, he’d be completely defenseless. He’d just have to pray that they’d hear him out first.

The boy returned a few minutes later with a very familiar face in tow. Sugawara Koushi stopped at the threshold, before narrowing his eyes and politely asking “Yamaguchi-kun” to “go find Daichi.” Yamaguchi looked between the two of them nervously before scurrying off again.

Sugawara moved from the doorway, but he didn’t close it behind him, which was probably a good sign. His jaw clenched.

“I’m going to assume,” he started slowly, “that you have a damn good reason for passing out on my property at three in the morning. Start talking.”

Tetsurou raised his hands submissively, swallowing. “I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he promised. “And I know this is going to sound batshit insane after everything that’s happened—and believe me, I don’t want to be here either—but I need your help.”

“Our _help_ ,” he repeated. “ _You_ need _our_ help.”

“It’s…” Tetsurou glanced towards the door. “A long story.”

“So it sounds.” Sugawara crossed his arms over his chest. “You better start explaining then. You’re only here because you clearly weren’t capable of hurting us in the condition you were in, but I can’t guarantee how long that’ll give you.”

Tetsurou couldn’t explain like this. He knew he needed to, and he knew that he wasn’t in any position to bargain or make demands, but he lowered his arms and took a deep breath anyway. _I need Kenma_. “Is Hinata Shouyou here?”

Sugawara blinked, then scowled. “What do you want with him this time?”

“I didn’t do anything to him the first time,” Tetsurou defended, “and I’m not going to this time either. But I need to see him.”

“Not until you explain what’s going on.”

“ _Please_ —“

His begging was interrupted by Sawamura Daichi at the doorway, looking more than a little angry to see Tetsurou here.

No one said anything for a moment. Sugawara and Sawamura seemed to be having a silent conversation, and Tetsurou watched them exchange looks with vague interest; he didn’t have time for this. He needed to tell them, and he needed to see Kenma. He’d gotten Kenma back, only to have him be taken away again. He _needed to see Kenma_.

“Explain,” Daichi said. Their debate seemed to be over, and the vampire now stood in front of Tetsurou’s guest bed, arms crossed to mirror Sugawara’s, expression steeled. He looked somehow older than the last time Tetsurou saw him, his whole body washed out, the lines in his face deeper. Stress. Guilt. A part of Tetsurou was glad for it. _He’s regretting it, finally_.

“Is Hinata here?” he asked again. At the look Daichi sent him, he continued, “I need to see him, _please_. I’ll tell you everything, just—“

He swallowed, but it was difficult. Neither of them looked surprised to see him tearing up, but he felt more than a little pathetic for it. They were never meant to see him like this—weak, desperate. But right now, that was maybe the only way to describe him: desperate Tetsurou, enough to beg; weak Tetsurou, enough to ask for their help. What else was he supposed to do?

Sugawara was the first one to crack. He sighed heavily and put a hand on Daichi’s shoulder, his own sagging. “I’ll go get him,” he mumbled. They shared another silent conversation for a moment, before Daichi nodded and turned back to Tetsurou. Sugawara closed the door behind him on his way out.

Then there were two, and Tetsurou tried to keep the bile from rising in his throat. He felt that familiar anger building in his stomach, the same kind that had fueled him for so many years—but he pushed it down stubbornly. He couldn’t do this now.

“Karasuno’s in danger,” he said in way of explanation.

Daichi’s expression didn’t change. Tetsurou looked away, his fists clenching around the bedsheets.

_The beginning_ , he reminded himself.

“Almost a week ago, I was kidnapped by a guy named Oikawa Tooru. He let me go yesterday and sent me to…convince one of your members to return to Aoba Johsai. I don’t know who. He said you guys would know, and that if he _didn’t_ return, Oikawa would do it himself. I’m here, obviously, but—I promise you, I’m not here to do anything. I needed to warn you.”

Something like understanding crossed Daichi’s face before he reeled it back into seething indifference. His shoulders seemed to drop, but the air of hostility surrounding him dissipated, and his eyes turned to the ground.

“He’ll do it himself, huh,” Daichi mumbled. His ears twitched, once, twice, before he pulled himself back up. “He didn’t say anything about how long we have until he decides to take matters into his own hands, did he?”

“Two weeks.”

Daichi’s eyebrows shot up. “A generous guy.”

Tetsurou’s lips pulled into a humorless smile. “Very.”

There was a knock on the door, but Sugawara didn’t wait for an answer before pushing it open, a shock of red hair poking out behind him. Hinata Shouyou, in contrast to Daichi, didn’t look any different than the last time Tetsurou saw him. He gaped when his eyes fell on Tetsurou, and Tetsurou offered a wry grin.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted. It wasn’t meant unkindly, but both Sugawara and Daichi glared at him like it had. Hinata didn’t seem to notice, though, and bounced out from behind Sugawara and towards Tetsurou without any fear.

“Kuroo!” He glanced at a spot next to him, and Tetsurou felt his heart beating towards his throat. _Kenma’s here_. “What’re you doing here? What happened? Are you okay?”

The others seemed shocked that Hinata would ask about Tetsurou’s wellbeing, and so genuinely too. Hinata hadn’t shown any sort of resentment or anger towards Tetsurou for what he’d done; Tetsurou didn’t really get _why_ , but he was thankful for it. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Hinata. He’d only done what he thought was right at the time.

Tetsurou re-explained the situation to the other two, and when he was done, Hinata’s eyes were wide. “Aoba Johsai?” He turned around on his heel to face Sugawara and Daichi.

Neither of them looked very comfortable. Hesitantly, Sugawara said, “They’re a monster-run underground organization.”

Hinata blinked. “So, like, the mafia?”

“More or less,” Sugawara admitted. “They’re very old and _very_ dangerous, and we…” He paused. “It would be best if we could avoid any confrontation with them…”

“Aoba Johsai would eat you alive,” Tetsurou mumbled.

“While that’s true, we can’t just _hand_ Kageyama over,” Daichi insisted. “He’s part of Karasuno. We need to protect him.”

“What does Kageyama have to do with this?”

Another exchange of looks. Tetsurou didn’t know who Kageyama was, but he felt very much like he’d walked in on something he didn’t want to get involved in.

_This can wait_.

“Hinata.” Tetsurou reached forward to tug on the shapeshifter’s sleeve. Sugawara and Daichi both tensed, and he thought he saw them take a step in his direction. He stopped.

“Don’t touch him,” Daichi ordered. His voice was a growl, something primal making his fists clench and his eyes narrow and his ears twitch in warning. This was more the Daichi Tetsurou had seen when they’d first met—not the quivering, shaking Daichi he’d forced out of hiding at New Years. Seeing it again was nostalgic, in a grating, violent sort of way.

Hinata waved off the harsh atmosphere, moving towards the bed.

“I’m fine,” he promised, then turned to Tetsurou. “Did you want to see Kenma?”

 

\--

 

Shouyou wasn’t sure he would ever get used to Kenma possessing him.

It was always a weird, floating feeling, having his soul take a backseat while Kenma piloted his body for a while, no matter how many times they did it. It wasn’t _unpleasant_ so much as it was _unnatural_ ; souls weren’t supposed to detach from their body until death, and yet Shouyou had forced his out more than a few times in his short life already.

Still, he allowed Kenma permission. Kuroo didn’t cry like he had the first time, but he looked like he was getting close to it. Shouyou thought he might have, had Suga and Daichi not been watching.

They hugged, tightly, Kenma leaning awkwardly over the side of the bed. Shouyou couldn’t speak to anyone but Kenma like this, but he tried to convey that he was happy for them.

Suga and Daichi questioned Kuroo about Oikawa for a while after that, Kenma never leaving his side. If they were uncomfortable seeing what looked like Hinata acting so close and—frankly—in love with the man who’d kidnapped him, they didn’t say anything about it.

Despite the interrogation, nobody gave an explanation about what Kageyama had to do with this, but Shouyou couldn’t demand it, so he watched with growing impatience and concern while they debated what to do about Aoba Johsai. They could relocate, they said; but Suga bit his thumb and looked down, explaining that that would only work for as long as it took for Oikawa to find them again, and Kuroo said they would have to give up shows for the sake of running, and Suga said that they couldn’t run forever. _That never works_ , he told Daichi, and Shouyou thought they might have been talking about Kuroo.

They couldn’t give Kageyama over, though, Daichi said again, and everyone but Kuroo agreed. The witch stayed quiet. He didn’t seem confident enough in what was going on to comment on the situation, and Shouyou was glad he wasn’t the only person here out of the loop.

We need to take it one step at a time, Daichi told them, and about the only thing they could come up with was talking to Kageyama about it.

Kenma gave Shouyou his body back after an hour. Kuroo looked reluctant to let him go, but Kenma promised that he wasn’t going anywhere, even if Kuroo couldn’t see him all the time—and Shouyou told Kenma _it’s okay if you want to do this again later, too! I don’t mind!_ Kenma relayed the information. Kuroo finally nodded, albeit reluctantly, and let Kenma’s—Shouyou’s—hand go.

Shouyou, once he was back in his own body again, followed Suga and Daichi out the door.

“Wait!” he called after them, struggling to catch up. It always took his body a second to get used to him being in charge again, and he almost tripped twice over his own feet in his rush. Kenma chose to stay behind with Kuroo, even if Kuroo couldn’t see him anymore. Shouyou glanced one last time at the sight of them—Kenma, perched on the edge of the bed, one hand reached out like he’d tried to touch Kuroo before realizing he couldn’t; Kuroo, sitting up despite his eyes being closed, blankets pooled around his lap—before turning back to Suga and Daichi.

They closed the door behind Shouyou, both looking distracted. Shouyou didn’t waste time asking, “What was that about Kageyama?”

Daichi opened his mouth to respond before looking to Suga as if for help. Suga didn’t say anything either.

“What does he have to do with this Oikawa thing? And Kuroo?” _Why isn’t anyone telling me anything?_ They hadn’t told him earlier when he’d asked; his question had been swallowed up in other discussions, easily swept under the rug to ignore. But Shouyou didn’t want to be left in the dark anymore. He wanted to _know_.

Things are fine, Shouyou.

“We…” Daichi paused, looking somehow years older. That room aged him. He licked his lips, turning apologetic eyes on Shouyou. “We don’t know right now, Hinata, I’m sorry.”

“Kageyama hasn’t told us anything,” Suga continued. “We were going to talk to him about it, since it…”

Shouyou nodded, feeling his shoulder deflate. “Oh.”

At least he was on the same page as the rest of them, he guessed. But it didn’t stop any of the burning fear from climbing up his throat. Things hadn’t been easy lately, but at the very least they hadn’t involved _the mafia_. From what Suga had told them, Oikawa was the kind of guy who got what he wanted, when he wanted, no matter what—and if what he wanted was Kageyama, then…

“You should talk to him.”

Shouyou looked up. “What?”

“About what’s going on,” Daichi elaborated. “Tell him what you know about the situation. He might want to talk about it, if it’s you.”

Shouyou didn’t know why Kageyama would _want to talk about it_ with him, but he remembered how it’d felt at New Years, when he’d talked about his sister and Kageyama had opened up in return, so he nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll talk to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments keep us going!!!


	14. entertain my faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Kenma were in their position, he wouldn’t have bothered fighting. Even he understood that Karasuno’s odds were slim to none of coming out of this victorious, never mind _alive_ —but he also understood, to some degree, that they had to protect Kageyama. Kageyama was their family, and even Kenma knew that you didn’t give up family without a fight.
> 
> The sentiment didn’t change the fact that they were stuck between a rock and a hard place, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! school started for us friday lmfao so Who Knows what our update schedule will look like
> 
> anyway it took 100k words to get here but heres actual kagehina
> 
> **chapter TWs** : depictions of child abuse (from a parental figure), implied anxiety attack kind of? it never Says its an anxiety attack but you can interpret it that way, so.

“Stop it!”

There was a resounding _slap_. Its echo hung in the air for a few long moments, and slowly, Oikawa Tooru brought his head forward. His cheek stung. He stayed looking at the ground, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible.

“You don’t speak to your father like that,” the man in front of him said calmly, such a blatant contradiction to his earlier burst of anger that Tooru almost laughed.

Almost.

“Get out of here. I don’t want you in my sight.”

Tooru didn’t respond, although he cursed and cursed in his head. It was little comfort, and he bit down on his tongue to keep the words in. The boy behind him shifted and started to say something, but Tooru turned around, grabbed his hand, and tugged him towards the door. It was enough to keep him quiet until they were back in their shared bedroom with a locked door and some semblance of privacy. But there, the other couldn’t help but voice his questions.

“What happened, Tooru?” Tobio asked, his eyebrows knitted in worry, his small hands reaching out towards Tooru as if to help. He decided last second it wasn’t needed and brought them back to his side, where they swung uselessly. Tooru sighed.

“Nothing, Tobio-chan,” he answered. He tried for his best smile, but it fell flat.

“Is Dad angry at you?”

“Yes, but he’ll get over it.”

Tooru sat down on the floor in front of their fireplace, running his fingers over the rug. It was made from chimera fur; he had been there when his father had killed it, and he’d watched the animal being skinned. There was a sort of detachedness with which he touched it, though. He couldn’t put together that what he sat on now was made from that gorgeous beast.

Behind him, two king-sized beds sat on opposite sides of the room, with draping canopies and pillows that could swallow them. Their whole room was oversized and capable of _swallowing_ ; the two boys had no reason to share, but did so anyway. It made the ceiling feel a little lower down, the room a little less cold, the beds a little less empty. Their mother had battled a million arguments with their father to get them here, pleading that being together would help them grow, that it would benefit them in the long run; she had done that for months, putting herself at risk of her husband’s hidden temper for their sake. With this at the back of his mind, Tooru wasn’t going to complain about the arrangement, even  _i_ _f_ Tobio snored sometimes or woke Tooru up with a nightmare.

“Why did he hit you?”

A good question, Tooru thought. Tobio was too young to understand why things were the way they were, being barely seven, and Tooru didn’t want to be the one to ruin it. How could he put this, if Tobio hadn’t already seen it for himself yet?

“Dad isn’t a good person,” Tooru mumbled.

“What?” Tobio sat down next to him on the rug, watching the fire the way Tooru was, like he was trying to understand what Tooru was looking for. He tilted his head to the side just a little, his eyes wide and curious. Not yet used to this, their life. “What do you mean?”

“He’s not good, Tobio-chan.” Tooru’s fists clenched on the rug, pulling coarse fur between his fingers. “He was gonna hurt you. If I hadn’t gotten in front of you, he _would_ have hurt you, just because he can.”

Tobio’s face scrunched up into something disbelieving, his ears twitching forward, then back, like they couldn’t decide whether to be angry or confused. “I—I don’t understand. Dad wouldn’t—Mama says he wouldn’t—“

“Mom is _lying_! Why don’t you understand that?!”

They were both quiet.

Tooru looked away, trying as subtly as he could to blink away tears. He hadn’t meant to get emotional about this. He was supposed to be the strong, older brother; what would Tobio do, seeing him cry?

“Mom is lying,” he said again, careful to make sure his voice didn’t raise. “He was gonna hurt you, and he hurts me, and he hurts Mama, and he hurts everyone else. He hurts people _all the time,_ Tobio, that’s what he does, that’s all he _can_ do. He isn’t a good person. He doesn’t care about us. We’re…”

His blinking had been in vain. There was no way to stop this.

“We’re all we have. We only have each other, okay? It’s you, and me, and Mom, and that’s it. All we have in the world.”

Tooru sat on the rug in front of their fireplace, letting the tears run. They were silent in their descent, trailing down his cheeks and off his chin until they landed without a sound on his knees. He hoped quietly that Tobio hadn’t noticed. Maybe with how dark it was he hadn’t realized what was happening, Tooru thought—but his hope dissipated when Tobio scooted forward, pulling Tooru into a hug that was as unusual as it was childish.

They didn’t hug like this much.

“Please don’t cry,” Tobio mumbled into his brother’s shoulder. His arms around Tooru were small, but he was warm, and Tooru’s cheek still stung.

Opposite his request, Tooru cried harder.

 

\--

 

Tadashi’s specialty wasn’t healing magic, but he’d been assigned to help Kuroo anyway.

“It’ll be good practice,” Kiyoko told him, but there was an apologetic undertone to her smile. She knew he wasn’t particularly good with _people_ —and probably especially people that had attacked his home only a month and a half prior—and she felt for him. But she was busy, he’d gathered; everyone was busy these days. She disappeared into Daichi’s office to talk about the “situation” while Tadashi was left upstairs with a very intimidating stranger.

He gathered supplies from the attic and returned to the guest room, leaving the door cracked open behind him. Kuroo was sitting at the foot of the bed, facing the window that looked out across the fairground. When Tadashi had first found him outside, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind that someone as frail and worn out could be the same witch that attacked them only a few months ago. He carried himself so differently now. There was absolutely nothing threatening about this version of him—this watered down, sunken-eyed, forlorn thing. Even from here, Tadashi could see the heaviness that settled in Kuroo’s shoulders, this tiredness. Tadashi hadn’t yet been told what events led him to here, but he knew that whatever it was hadn’t been fun for Kuroo.

Tadashi took a step into the room as loudly as he could, trying to get Kuroo’s attention without speaking, but he didn’t even look up. He just kept staring outside. Tadashi set his supplies—carried neatly in a leather bag Kiyoko had gotten him as a present a year ago—on the bedside table.

“Um,” he said, and winced at how his voice came out. “I’m here to…help.”

Kuroo finally turned away from the window, blinking when he laid eyes on Tadashi as if he hadn’t realized anybody had entered the room. He offered a smile that could’ve been roguish, where it not for the state he was in.

“Did they stick you with playing nurse?” he asked, shifting on the edge of the bed so he was facing Tadashi. He paused, looking at the other more closely now, and Tadashi squirmed under the scrutiny. “Yamaguchi, right?”

It shouldn’t have been surprising that he’d picked up on Tadashi’s name—he must have just heard someone throwing it around earlier—but it still caught Tadashi off guard. He fidgeted, tugging on his bag’s strap to open it. “Uh, yeah.”

“No first name?” Kuroo waited a full three seconds before seeing the panicked expression on Tadashi’s face and grinning widely. “I’m just trying to be polite. If everything goes okay, I should be staying here with you guys for a while, so we might as well get acquainted. Play nice and all of that.”

“You—“ Tadashi nearly knocked the bag over in his surprise. “You are?”

“I guess they haven’t given the speech to everyone yet.” Kuroo didn’t look displeased by that information, though, only amused. He seemed to have recovered from whatever weird mood he’d been earlier, and now he was back to something Tadashi had expected. He gestured towards the leather bag. “Whatchya got there?”

“Things for…” Tadashi pulled the contents out, setting them on the table; different bottles of healing lotion, a few herbs ground to nearly dust in a jar just in case, and a First Aid kit. “They’re for your, um, remaining injuries. We—Kiyoko-san and I—treated you when you first got here, but…”

Kuroo nodded in understanding. “Gotchya. Can’t heal all at once, don’t wanna risk any long term effects.” He cocked his head to the side. “How thoughtful of you.”

“You're welcome?” Tadashi wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He uncapped one of the bottles and got on his knees in front of the table, eyelevel with his supplies. Kuroo watched him with vague interest while he mixed things together, eyes following his every movement in a way that made Tadashi incredibly nervous.

The issue with healing magic was that it wasn’t as definite as everyone wanted to believe it was; it sped up the healing process, sure, but with things like burns and small wounds, not by much. Broken bones that would take a month to heal could take a week, but the magic used there couldn’t be applied the same way for everything. In that case, it was easier just to utilize a few magically-charged lotions and good old fashioned First Aid, and wait.

Which is what Tadashi would have to do now. Kiyoko had healed Kuroo enough to bring him back from half-death—he was dehydrated and on the verge of starvation when he’d first gotten here—but they hadn’t addressed the burns. They weren’t in any one specific place, and they varied in severity. Kuroo hadn’t complained about any pain when he’d woken up this morning, and even now, he said nothing, although Tadashi could clearly see injuries around his wrists and bare ankles. Tadashi wondered how long he’d had to walk here with his ankles’ burns untreated. _No wonder he passed out._

“You’re new at this,” Kuroo said matter-of-factly. It was probably an attempt at conversation. He was a witch, Tadashi remembered—he probably knew everything Tadashi was going to do.

“Sort of,” he admitted, pulling gauze from the First Aid kit and setting it next to the lotions. The magic they were charged with had the same effect as if it were aloe vera, although it worked quicker and more effectively. Tadashi could do it to just about any lotion and they would work just the same. Kiyoko usually stocked up on the cheap, Dollar General ones when they went into town.

“How many witches are here?”

“Three, including me.” Tadashi finished what he was doing, pouring some of the lotion on his hand. When he reached for Kuroo’s ankle, though, the other yanked away with surprising force.

Kuroo swallowed. “Sorry,” he mumbled, letting his foot fall forward again. “It just, uh. They’re not regular burns.”

“Magic?”

He grinned wryly. “What else?”

Tadashi nodded his understanding but didn’t say anything about it. He wasn’t sure if it was his place to ask, but he had to wonder—what kind of situation had Kuroo been in where he’d been burned like that with _magic_? They didn’t look like one-time occurrences either; upon closer inspection, it seemed like he’d been burned multiple times in the same places. Burned, healed, burned, healed, burned. Whoever had done it had treated him the first few times, but not bothered with the last one.

“It’s probably not my business,” he started, already feeling like he was going to regret this, and busied himself with applying the lotion and unwrapping the gauze, “but…how long did it take you to find us?”

“Day trip.” Kuroo shrugged like it was no big deal, but Tadashi saw the way his jaw clenched. “I escaped the night before last—although that’s a pretty cheap word to use, since I couldn’t have _escaped_ when he _told_ me to leave—and hitch-hiked my way here. I had to walk the last couple of miles, though. No one I rode with seemed to be able to find it.” He smiled. “I wonder why that is? But it’s not very good for business, just to let you know. How’s anyone supposed to attend your shows when they can’t even find the entrance?”

So Tadashi’s spell had worked. He didn’t want to show he was surprised, but it had been his first try with magic like that, and he’d expected to fail miserably. It was good to know they had that going for them, at least. Although, what good could it have done if Kuroo managed to find them anyway, Tadashi thought.

“Oh,” he said, for lack of anything better.

He finished wrapping one of Kuroo’s ankles and moved to the next. He hadn’t done this kind of First Aid—or any, actually—on anyone that wasn’t a member of Karasuno and, therefore, considered family. It made it all the weirder to be this close to a stranger, even if only out of necessity.

At least he had a story to tell Tsukki later, he thought. He imagined the conversation while standing up, moving to Kuroo’s wrists. _I ended up playing nurse for the guy you’ve been having reoccurring visions about, who also happens to double as Karasuno’s sworn enemy. Also, I think we’re in a lot more trouble than we think we are._

But Tsukki probably already knew that last part.

“You’re pretty okay,” Kuroo breached the silence suddenly. At the confused look Tadashi wore, he elaborated, “As a witch, I mean. And probably a person too, but I don’t know if I’m the best judge of character for that, anyway.”

Tadashi wrapped his left wrist, careful not to make it too tight. “Thank you…?”

“At the show on New Year’s,” Kuroo said. “I didn’t see you performing, so you probably help around with technical things, right? And I’m guessing you helped with the mannequins.” He smiled. “Illusion magic, strong enough to convince the whole audience there are more performers than there are? Pretty impressive stuff, considering there’s only three of you here. I guess you do that since Karasuno’s pretty low on members, right?”

“…Yeah.” Tadashi didn’t know if this was the kind of thing you talked to a potential threat about, but if what he’d said earlier was true—about staying here for a while—it probably wouldn’t hurt. “It was Asahi’s idea, since it takes so long to train to be an acrobat and we don’t get new members very often…”

“Resourceful.”

“Th-thanks.” Tadashi finished Kuroo’s right wrist and all but jumped away from him, glad to no longer be in such close proximity. He threw the gauze into the First Aid kit and started packing his things in his bag again.

“You’re friends with Hinata?”

Tadashi paused. “Um, yeah, why?”

Kuroo didn’t say anything for a moment. An expression close to his earlier one—the faraway one, the vacant one, the withered-down one—took over the lines of his face, moving from dry humor and impishness to something rawer, more exposed. For the third time, Tadashi got to see the blood and guts of this stranger.

Then it was gone, and Kuroo shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Just making conversation. Are you playing babysitter too?”

It took Tadashi a second to recover enough to register the question. “Oh. Oh, no, I have to…go…do things…” He trailed off awkwardly, inwardly cringing at his own social ineptitude.

“I’m left alone then.” Kuroo considered it. “You’re all surprisingly trusting of me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” a voice from the doorway said. Tadashi swiveled around to see Suga leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing something close to a scowl. Tadashi didn’t see this side of Suga very often—there weren’t many chances to here, where they were meant to be safe—so the hostility in his voice and the angry twitch of his ears caught Tadashi off guard.

“And we’re not leaving you alone,” he continued. “Tadashi’s just being relieved of his duties for now.”

“Like taking shifts,” Kuroo said.

“If you want to think of it like that, yes.”

Tadashi scurried towards Suga at the door, his leather bag slung over his shoulder. He looked between the two of them nervously, unsure if it was actually wise to leave Suga in the same room as Kuroo. Suga could take care of himself, definitely, but the slow-burning anger Suga was radiating, just controlled enough to keep his tone forcefully polite, was putting Tadashi on edge.

Suga set a hand between his shoulder blades comfortingly. “I’ll be fine in here,” he assured, smiling.

Tadashi glanced at Kuroo one more time before nodding and leaving the room. The door closed quietly behind him, and that didn’t do anything to help his anxiety.

 

\--

 

Shouyou found Kageyama in the gym, training.

He ran there, so he was bent over panting when he finally got through the doors, but now that he was here, he stopped. Tried to get his thoughts in order. After his conversation with Daichi, his first thought had been to find Kageyama and get everything laid out in the open, and he’d gone immediately to running around the fair grounds for the vampire. Now, though, it was a little more complicated.

Shouyou still didn’t really understand why _he_ was the one everyone thought could get Kageyama to open up. If Daichi explained the situation and just _asked_ Kageyama would tell them, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t keep something like that from them on purpose.

_It would be best if we could avoid any confrontation with them_ , Suga said. _We need to protect him_.

“I’ll just ask,” Shouyou mumbled to himself. “It can’t be as big of a deal as everyone’s makin’ it out to be, it’ll be fine. There’s nothing to be scared about.”

Distantly, he wished Kenma were here to help calm him down. Even if it were only the cold phantom touch of his ghost’s hand on his shoulder, it would be better than being alone.

Kageyama didn’t notice Shouyou for a few minutes, but he was doing some complicated spin on one of the really high bar things when he did, and nearly fell because of it. Shouyou rushed forward to see if he was okay, but Kageyama was already recovering and pulling himself down. They met half way.

“What are you doing here?” Kageyama asked, foregoing any greeting. At least that hadn’t changed.

“Um,” Shouyou blinked. Kageyama’s work out attire was a tank top, short, and those glove-things gymnasts always wore, and it was a lot more distracting than Shouyou remembered it being. He blinked again. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

So Sugawara and Daichi really _had_ kept this whole thing a secret, then. Shouyou knew they hadn’t had time for a Karasuno-wide meeting about the situation, but he’d expected them to at least have mentioned that something was going on. That explained why Tanaka and Nishinoya had seemed completely normal when Shouyou talked to them this morning, though.

“It’s a really long story,” Shouyou said. “And it’s…kind of bad? It’s not good news. Can we talk?”

Kageyama’s eyebrows furrowed, and he nodded. They made their way towards the locker room because, while the gym was completely empty besides them, it felt more private somehow, and Shouyou didn’t want anyone walking in on their conversation.

The locker room’s door shut heavily behind them, cacophonous in the dead silence. Shouyou made himself busy by sitting down on one of the benches, forcing his expression into something more normal. The issue with that was that he’d never been very good at hiding his emotions.

Kageyama sat down next him, the atmosphere a million times more serious than usual. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and Shouyou watched the heavy rise and fall of his chest for a while before speaking. He spoke without thinking, letting the words roll off his tongue and into the air around him before he could take anything back or filter himself. That was the only way to get the words out.

“So, the thing is, this morning at like three A.M., Yamaguchi and Tsukishima found Kuroo on the fair grounds passed out, but they didn’t _know_ it was Kuroo so they took him inside and helped heal him—but they told Suga and Daichi, who obviously recognized him, and apparently the reason Kuroo is here is ‘cause he’s been held captive by a guy from the mafia named Oikawa for the past couple of days and basically tortured—and apparently Oikawa kidnapped Kuroo just to send him here to convince you to go back, except none of us know why but apparently we have two weeks before he comes here himself and—we’re assuming, you know, takes you by, like, force.”

There was silence for a long, excruciating moment. It occurred to Shouyou that it was because Kageyama was too in shock to say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Shouyou said, and meant it. He spoke slower now, his voice quieter in what he hoped was something more comforting. Kageyama still didn’t say anything. “We’re in a pretty bad spot right now, Kageyama-kun. Suga and Daichi don’t know what to do. We don’t want him to take you, but none of us know how he even knows you, or why he’s doing this at all. It’s…scary.”

He wished there were a way to convey what he was thinking without saying it out loud. _We need you to tell us what’s going on,_ he thought. _We need you to trust us. We don’t want you to get hurt._ I _don’t want you to get hurt_.

Kageyama didn’t seem to be breathing.

Shouyou peered over at the other, worried by the growing silence. “Kageyama…?”

“It’s—“ Kageyama’s voice cracked. He was hunched over in the same position as earlier, his head hung between his knees and staring at the floor. He wouldn’t meet Shouyou’s eyes, but Shouyou didn’t have to see his face to know Kageyama was crying. The shake in his shoulders, the catch in his throat—it was indication enough.

“Kageyama…”

Shouyou reached a hand out cautiously. It found its way to a spot between Kageyama’s shoulder blades, feeling the knots in his spine and dampness of his sweat-slicked shirt. Something about this felt old, felt nostalgic. They’d been like this a few days ago, when Shouyou had finally told Kageyama the full story with Kenma. That felt like years ago now. Kageyama’s hand in his, so strong and warm and surprisingly gentle, was light years away from this locker room and this shaking and this gutted-open thing.

Shouyou understood that they had to have this conversation. Really, he did. He understood that Kageyama _had_ to tell them what was going on, that they couldn’t afford for him not to. But knowing the logic behind it didn’t stop the bubbling guilt in his stomach, the rising disgust with himself. This wasn’t voluntarily giving someone a part of yourself—this wasn’t Kageyama showing Shouyou the skeletons in his closet with the trust that Shouyou deserved it, could take it. This was gutting someone else for them. Forcing them into the light.

He didn’t want to force Kageyama into the light. But he had to.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and felt a little bit stupid and a little bit guiltier for it. “I know this is hard, Kageyama. But please don’t leave me in the dark anymore.”

The pronoun originally intended had been _us_. Shouyou had accidentally let slip some of his selfishness in his pleading, but he didn’t correct himself. He only waited. Kageyama pulled himself up, and Shouyou could feel his muscles shifting underneath rough skin, and he didn’t take his hand off Kageyama’s back.

“I care about you a lot, Kageyama,” Shouyou said. He wanted to gut himself too. Make the exchange more equal, somehow, even if his confession felt insignificant in comparison.

“I care about you too,” Kageyama mumbled, so quietly Shouyou had to lean in to hear it. He was looking forward, avoiding Shouyou’s gaze when he said, “Oikawa was… _is_ my brother.”

Shouyou opened his mouth to say something, give a reaction—but he stopped, shut his mouth closed and pressed his lips together so hard that it hurt. He waited. Eventually, Kageyama continued.

“He’s my adopted brother,” he said, still refusing to meet Shouyou’s eyes. “I grew up with Aoba Johsai, and I…I was never…”

Shouyou slid his hand up Kageyama’s back, from between his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck in what he was hoping was a comforting gesture. He still didn’t say anything, patiently allowing Kageyama time to put himself together. Shouyou wasn’t new to this kind of thing.

“He was—is older than me. So he was always…expected to take over, once our dad died. I wasn’t…treated the same as he was because of that. I don’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I wasn’t.”

Kageyama’s whole body shifted with a heavy inhale, then again with the exhale. Shouyou took his hand from the other’s neck and started to return it to his lap, afraid of overstepping boundaries, when Kageyama reached over and grabbed Shouyou’s hand in his. He was trembling, so lightly that Shouyou wouldn’t have felt it had they not been holding hands, had his knee not been knocking against Kageyama’s, had his whole body not been focused on every shudder and inhale and catch in Kageyama’s throat.

“You’re not with him anymore,” Shouyou said more than asked, the first thing he’d allowed himself to voice. “At New Years, you said…Oikawa is the brother?”

Kageyama nodded, twice. Shouyou squeezed his hand, and the gesture felt a little pathetic in light of everything else.

“So…” He shifted so their legs were pressed flush against each other on the bench, despite how much space they had. “What happened between you two? To make it…like this?” _To make you so scared? To make you not want to go back? Why did you leave in the first place?_

“He killed our parents.”

In his surprise, Shouyou shut down for a moment. Kageyama entwined their fingers slowly, noticing what the blunt confession had done to him. He continued, his voice so low Shouyou wouldn’t have heard it had he not been so close, “I found them dead, with him…”

He stopped. Composed himself.

“I ran away that night, but not before he…”

For the second time, he couldn’t finish his sentence. Kageyama turned his face away from Shouyou, but even at this angle Shouyou could see the glint of Kageyama’s scars under the fluorescent lights, the twin markers of something Shouyou didn’t understand. He remembered every time he’d wanted to ask where Kageyama had gotten them, every time he’d been caught staring too long when he thought Kageyama wasn’t paying attention, and his gut twisted with understanding, then guilt.

Still, that didn’t stop him from watching to touch them, somewhere under the surface of his concern and pity. He’d wanted to before—reach his hand out and feel the raised, uneven skin marring Kageyama’s nose and cheek, just skim the tips of his fingers over them with Kageyama’s eyelashes fluttering closed—maybe due to some kind of morbid fascination. The scars were proof of something bigger than what Kageyama told anyone. Shouyou wondered what it had looked like before they healed and scarred. If Kageyama had been able to see through the blood.

“How old were you?”

That must not have been the question Kageyama was anticipating, but he shook his head and answered anyway. “Thirteen.”

Distantly, Shouyou wished Kageyama would look at him again. Shouyou knew he was still crying. The tremble in his voice and the shaking in his shoulders had never stopped, only subsided, and the rise and fall of his chest told Shouyou he was hiccupping; there was no hiding the whole of it. Looking away was a cheap, last ditch effort at preserving his pride. He didn’t want to look weak in front of Shouyou, probably, or he didn’t want to give this part of him to Shouyou.

Shouyou wished he would.

“Oh,” he said, quieter than he intended.

“I don’t know why he’s doing this,” Kageyama muttered. “He hasn’t…contacted me since then. I don’t even know how he found out I was part of Karasuno…”

Shouyou blinked. “The newspapers.”

“What?”

“After the thing with Kuroo—“ He swallowed. “After I was kidnapped, it was all over the news. Didn’t they show footage of the show along with it? Like, of the show before the attack happened?”

Kageyama didn’t respond. He seemed to deflate, like he was giving in to something. To what, Shouyou didn’t know, but in an effort to console him, he squeezed the other’s hand twice.

“Right,” Kageyama said, his lips barely moving. “Of course. There wasn’t…it was stupid to think he wouldn’t…”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s a little bit my fault.”

It was meant sincerely, and really, Shouyou was beating himself up about it—but from the corner of his eye, he saw Kageyama’s lip twitch into a small grin. Shouyou probably hadn’t felt more relieved in his entire life. Despite how little the smile was, it caught on to Shouyou, and he let out a breathless laugh. Maybe at the ridiculousness of it, maybe at the unfairness; he didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care.

“We have two weeks, huh…” Kageyama, for the first time since he’d started talking, met Shouyou’s eyes. His were red, bloodshot and puffy from crying, his cheeks pink. Shouyou was surprised and relieved to know that vampires didn’t cry differently than other monsters.

“We should probably talk to Daichi about what to do next,” Shouyou offered, his gut still twisting.

Kageyama didn’t say anything, before leaning over and enveloping Shouyou in a hug. Shouyou hugged back, wrapping his arms around Kageyama’s neck and pulling him closer. He smelled like sweat and something slightly less unpleasant—laundry detergent, maybe. Shouyou didn’t get the time to analyze it in-depth before Kageyama was pulling away, his face pink. It might’ve just been from the crying, but he couldn’t meet Shouyou’s eye after that. Shouyou missed the warmth. He wished they could’ve just stayed that way, wrapped around each other in the closed comfort of the gym’s locker room. They wouldn’t have to deal with everyone else here, and Kageyama wouldn’t have to get hurt again.

It hit Shouyou very suddenly that he really, _really_ didn’t want Kageyama to get hurt again.

“I care about you a lot, Kageyama,” Shouyou said, because it was the only thing running through his head and he hadn’t brought his filter back up yet. And because he remembered what Kageyama had said earlier— _I_ _care about you, too_ —he jerked forward and pressed his lips to Kageyama’s in a poor imitation of a kiss.

He counted one, two, three, four before he pulled away. Kageyama’s entire face was red now, putting his previous embarrassment to shame—and Shouyou couldn’t help it when he started laughing, building from the guilt and fear and uncertainty in his stomach until it was spilling out of him in heaps and he was bent over, cheeks hurting.

Kageyama sputtered indignantly, but when they met eyes, he looked more embarrassed than angry. Shouyou took that as a good sign.

“Dumbass,” he grumbled, but his voice shook on the first syllable, and it only made Shouyou smile wider. “You—you can’t just… _surprise_ people with something like that!”

“I’m sorry,” Shouyou said, and while he was smiling, he still meant it. “Did you not want me to?”

“I—no, that’s not—“ Kageyama snapped his mouth shut abruptly, deciding he’d had enough stuttering for one go. Shouyou forced the grin off his face, trying to put on a more serious expression while Kageyama composed himself again. His face was almost back to a normal color when he started over. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean that you—you should _ask_ , or…or something.”

“Oh.” Shouyou guessed that made sense. He thought about it. “Then…can I kiss you again, Kageyama?”

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_.”

“Is that a no?”

“Of course that’s not a _no_ , what—“

Shouyou cut him off before his babbling could escalate any further. Their second kiss was _infinitely_ better than the first, Shouyou decided.

 

\--

 

Kozume Kenma was thrumming with energy, energy he hadn’t known he was still capable of feeling. Death had not been good to him, but he hadn’t been particularly energetic before becoming a ghost, either—which was why it was so weird now, to feel his barely-corporal body humming with something that might have been life.

He stood to the side of the guest room, unsure where he should’ve been, watching the scene unfold. Sugawara was talking to Kuroo civilly, although his patience was thinly veiled and about ready to crack. Kenma could see Sugawara’s façade drain a little every time Kuroo answered a question cryptically or spouted a badly-timed joke. It was so nostalgic to Kenma, though, that he almost cried.

In June, it would be sixteen years since Kenma had gotten to _be_ with Kuroo, the way they were meant to—without taking over another person’s body or forcing others to play messenger. Kenma was thankful for everything Shouyou had done and was willing to do, but no matter how many times he got to touch Kuroo through Shouyou’s skin, it wasn’t the same, and he knew Kuroo thought so too. There was always a moment after Kenma was fully in possession of Shouyou’s body that Kuroo seemed to look right through him, like seeing a stranger. He guessed Shouyou _was_ a stranger—but it still hurt, seeing that gaze addressed at him, even if he knew it was only logical.

Watching Sugawara tap his foot on the floor impatiently, Kenma craved to be back in control now. He didn’t want to abuse Shouyou’s kindness, but it was difficult not to want to spend every possible moment with Kuroo, now that they _could._  He stayed away from the bed Kuroo was still occupying, cautious of how close he could get. He always felt like he needed to keep a distance when he was in this form. The only person he could comfortably get close to like this was Shouyou, and that was partially because Shouyou was the only person Kenma could physically touch, partially because of the years they’d spent together. Shouyou was an exception to most things in Kenma’s life.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Sugawara commented after a few minutes of nothing but silence. Kuroo had been looking somewhere in front of him, close enough to Kenma that if he turned his head a few degrees, they’d be making eye contact. Not that he would realize it, Kenma knew.

“Nothing to talk about.” He shrugged, but it only spread to one shoulder like he couldn’t be bothered with both. To the others, it might’ve looked like he was only bored, but Kenma knew it was because he was still exhausted. He’d slept for a long time after they brought him here, and he’d been napping on and off all afternoon once Shouyou left to talk to Kageyama, but he was still recovering from whatever happened to him with Oikawa, and his body seemed to be demanding rest every chance it got.

Sugawara didn’t reply. He seemed antsy, leaning against the wall and leaving an unusual amount of space between himself and the bed Kuroo occupied. He probably wanted to leave, Kenma thought; he had a million other things he could be doing around Karasuno to help out, and probably a million things he _needed_ to do, but instead he was stuck babysitting.

Kenma had almost told Shouyou earlier to let them know he could watch Kuroo, just to give them a break from this whole switching-shifts-thing. But he figured they would have still done it anyway, using the excuse that Kenma couldn’t contact anyone if Kuroo did something. Shouyou couldn’t see it, but Kenma knew that Daichi was still wary of him, unsure where his loyalties really lie. Even if he explained, he didn’t think they’d understand.

“You never said what Oikawa did to you,” Suga said. He sounded cautious, stepping on eggshells with this line of conversation. Kenma frowned, moving closer to the two. He stopped right next to the bed.

“You wouldn’t want to hear anyway,” Kuroo answered, gracing Suga with a half-sarcastic grin.

“Why not?”

“Not that interesting.” He shrugged again. “Besides, it doesn’t affect what you’ve got going on with that Kageyama guy. Useless information.”

“Of course it affects this. We want to know what we’re dealing with, after all.” Suga paused, looking down. “But…you don’t have to talk about it, if it’s too much. I just thought I might ask.”

“Technically, you didn’t _ask_ me anything,” Kuroo pointed out, still grinning. Kenma felt that energy thrumming through him more intensely, loud in his ears like a heartbeat. He missed everything. He sat down on the side of the bed, using the edge of the bedframe as a perch for his feet. He wondered if the others could tell he was there.

“You know what I meant,” Suga mumbled, but he almost sounded guilty. Suga had less anger surrounding the situation than Daichi did, but that might have been because, Kenma assumed, he blamed himself for that night and every event after. He must have thought, had he not told Daichi about being mugged, or had he kept Daichi from instigated something, this could’ve been avoided.

Kenma wanted to feel some sort of anger towards Karasuno for causing his death, but he could find nothing but a low acceptance. It had been fear originally that kept him from wanting to stay here, but even then it hadn’t been _anger_. Kenma wasn’t angry or bitter. Now, he was only thrumming with energy.

“He shocked me.” Kuroo said it so casually, like talking about the weather. He was leaned up against the headboard of the bed, a pillow propped up behind him, bandages over his wrists. Kenma moved over on the bed, reaching out to touch Kuroo’s ankle through the comforter where he knew identical bandages lay. Kenma had known that, somehow, the same way he seemed to know everything else, so he wasn’t surprised by the news. Only upset.

Suga blinked, but otherwise did a good job of hiding his shock. “I…what?”

“Electrocution, you know,” Kuroo waved a hand through the air nonchalantly, “but with some kind of magic involved. He tried to get me to tell him about you guys, information about you as individuals, weaknesses and all of that—but I didn’t know much. He gave up after a few days and just ordered me to relay a message. Or bring Kageyama back with me, but obviously that isn’t going to happen.”

“They have witches working for them, then?”

Kuroo nodded. “I mean, I assume so. They’re an all-inclusive organization, as far as I’m aware—at least, when it comes to monsters. But I didn’t see anyone but Oikawa when I was there, and _he’s_ definitely not a witch.”

Suga didn’t say anything. He bit his lip, looking somewhere away from Kuroo while he thought. Kenma understood the concern. If they had witches—and witches who were powerful enough to do something like that—then fighting Aoba Johsai was going to be a lot harder than they originally thought it would be.

If Kenma were in their position, he wouldn’t have bothered fighting. Even he understood that Karasuno’s odds were slim to none of coming out of this victorious, never mind _alive_ —but he also understood, to some degree, that they had to protect Kageyama. Kageyama was their family, and even Kenma knew that you didn’t give up family without a fight.

The sentiment didn’t change the fact that they were stuck between a rock and a hard place, though.

“Suga-san?”

Shouyou poked his head in from behind the door, looking around until his eyes landed on Kenma. He gave a small wave, and Kenma offered a smile back, just to let him know he was doing okay. Sugawara uncrossed his arms, adopting a friendlier disposition.

“What’s up, Hinata?” he asked, his tone so different than the one he’d been using on Kuroo this whole time that it disoriented even Kenma for a second.

“I talked to Kageyama.” Shouyou glanced between Suga, then Kuroo, then Kenma, then back to Suga. “He’s ready to explain.”

Suga nodded. “Right. Go wait in Daichi’s office with him, I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Okay!” Shouyou smiled, giving another wave to Kenma, and left Kuroo and Suga alone in the room once again. The door shut a little too loudly behind him.

Kenma pulled his legs up on the bed, crossing them. He watched his knee pass right through Kuroo’s leg, where it otherwise would’ve touched and spread warmth. He missed everything.

Normally, Kenma was indifferent to this pitiful, synthetic life that he lived. But there were times when he hated it—times like these, when he remembered how it felt to hold someone, how it felt to share body heat, how it felt to accidentally fall asleep on the couch together with empty stomachs because they couldn’t afford enough groceries that week, how it felt to wake up after a morning of training and have his muscles scream in protest, how it felt to love and be loved and live and be alive. When his whole being burned with anger at this imitated body he’d been given. When his chest ached because he couldn’t have this anymore.

It was only worse, now—now that he knew that the one person he had _wanted_ to have this with was alive and here and _with him_.

(It had taken him years to realize it in life, that he wanted to _be_ with Kuroo like that, but he hated himself for not realizing it sooner. He wished he’d known, then, when he was alive. He wished he’d known.)

“I’ll be right back,” Suga mumbled towards Kuroo before leaving the door open behind him. He was probably going to find someone to fill in while he dealt with the Kageyama situation. A part of Kenma wanted to see that play out, but the more pressing part wanted nothing more than to sit on this bed and _be_ here. Even if Kuroo didn’t know it, even if Kuroo couldn’t talk to him like this, Kenma just wanted them to be together.

He was making up for lost time.

 

\--

 

“Tooru?”

The vampire rolled over on his bed, only tangling himself further in his blankets, and threw his forearm across his face dramatically. He forced down what might have been a sigh, and instead said, “Yeah, Tobio-chan?”

He heard his brother shifting under his own covers. Tooru didn’t have the best hearing yet—that was something he would have to hone as he got older, a skill that his father would never pass the chance up on polishing—but even across the large expanse that was their shared bedroom, he heard Tobio’s teeth clattering together. His fangs hadn’t grown in yet and they wouldn’t for at least another five years, so the chattering was even quieter, blunter. Tooru couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or from anxiety.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Tobio eventually managed to ask between his shivering. Tooru peaked out from under his forearm. Tobio was sitting up on his bed, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders falling off, his eyes puffy and red. Tooru hadn’t noticed he was crying.

_I’m a horrible brother_. He sat up, pushing the covers back and patting the spot next to him. “C’mon.”

Tobio didn’t waste time scrambling from his side of the room to Tooru’s, crawling under the covers and quickly pulling the sheets up so he was nothing but a sniffling head. Tooru laid back down, rolling over on his side. He was ready to go back to sleep, but…

“What’s bothering you?” he asked, glancing at the other. Tobio was wide awake, looking up at the ceiling. They used to have those plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars, but Tooru took them down a while ago. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t.

“Dad,” Tobio said, and the one syllable explained it all.

Tooru turned to look at the ceiling too, remembering what it had looked like with artificial galaxies stuck to them. They’d been a good distraction on nights when he couldn’t sleep, enough that he could count them until he was lulled into unconsciousness. Sometimes he dreamt that they’d been real, that all those times he’d retreated to the safe haven of his room, sporting a new wound—later, scar—or blow to his psyche, he had been staring up into vast nothingness at real stars and solar systems millions of light years away. He would go there, someday, he’d promise himself. He’d get out of here. He wouldn’t be confined to his father’s life, the one he’d been given. He wouldn’t be another victim. _He’d decide for himself_.

“I didn’t mean to scare you earlier,” Tooru mumbled, still imagining those stars. From the corner of his eye he felt Tobio turn to look at him, but he didn’t meet his brother’s eye. “But you needed to know.”

“That’s okay,” Tobio said. “You were just trying to protect me, that’s all. It’s okay if you were doing that.”

“That’s not okay.” But he didn’t push it past that. Tooru was, frankly, a little too tired to argue about this, even if it was in favor that he was in the wrong. He hadn’t gotten much sleep lately—or, had he gotten too much? He couldn’t really tell. It was all the same at this point. Whether it was deprivation or gain, he was always, always tired.

He’d be turning nine soon. To his father, that was old enough that he no longer allowed time for more juvenile things, like playing or resting or goofing around—he was a man now, and he needed to act like it. _Take some responsibility._

Tooru hated to admit it, but there was a part of himself that was jealous of Tobio for being excluded from this life and destiny. Tobio was the younger brother, the second child—he was not the heir, that was Tooru’s title, and so he got more leeway, more love. Their mother had long stopped defending Tooru from their father past what was absolutely necessary, but she still coddled Tobio.

_I want to start him in school_ , Tobio had overheard her confessing to their father one night. _At the very least, we should hire a private tutor. He needs an education._

And that had been the last straw for Tooru; what might have been only mild resentment soon morphed into what he feared was genuine hatred. He’d find himself wishing Tobio had been fated to the same thing as Tooru, that he was suffering too, that he wasn’t allowed any of this happiness—

_I don’t want that_. _I don’t hate him. He’s my brother. I have to protect him_.

Tooru hated himself a little more each time he thought things like that, and he soon learned to drown them out with his own mantra in compensation. _I have to protect him. I have to protect him. I have to protect him_.

It was only natural, then, that he would take the blow from their father, the first time he tried to physically harm Tobio.

“Are you still awake?” Tobio whispered, his tiny voice breaking through Tooru’s thoughts like sirens.

“Yeah, I’m up.”

“Oh…”

He waited. Nothing came. “Are you still thinking about it?”

“No. Well…” Tobio thought about it, his face scrunching up into a pensive frown that was quickly becoming signature for him. “Thank you for telling me. And for keeping Dad from hitting me, even if you scared me.”

He got that bluntness from their mother. Tooru nodded, pulling the sheets further over himself to hide from the cold. It was summer, but their air conditioning was always kept on high and with the door closed it caused the room to be freezing most of the time.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I’m always going to be here to protect you.”

Tobio’s eyes widened. “Really? You will?”

“Of course.” Tooru smiled. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are loved, a lot
> 
> also come talk to us about this fic on our tumblrs we love it when you do 
> 
> (also, if anyone cares, you can read the first two chapters of grays novel [here](http://calliopin-prose.tumblr.com/post/148572424109/calliopin-prose-this-is-the-first-chapter-of))


	15. flesh out the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What does ‘adopted’ mean?”
> 
> “It means that I’m from someone else,” Tooru said. “My parents died, so Mom and Dad took me in and raised me like their kid.”
> 
> “So...” Tobio frowned. “Does that mean we aren’t brothers?”
> 
> “Of course not, stupid. We’ll always be brothers.” Tooru rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t as annoyed as his words made him sound.
> 
>  
> 
> \--
> 
> tooru is s1ck. kags and hina r gais and tristes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> were bak ,':^)
> 
> and later than ever
> 
> were super super sorry for the wait junior year is Kicking Our Asses  
> gray has been busy Writing An Novel and simone is in the ib program
> 
> honestly thts all of our excuses feel free to be upset lmao well try to stop dying long enough to finish this and upd8 Quicker
> 
> there arent many tws in this chappie cappie jst more implied child abuse which is fun :) (by tht we mean NOT
> 
> have fun w yr iwaoi

Tooru’s parents had been killed.

At least, that was what his mother told him. He didn’t _look_ like the rest of his family; he didn’t act like them much either. There were always striking differences between him and Tobio, no matter what his parents used to insist.

When he was little—still little, little enough to question his family—his mother tucked him into bed, hiding his chin under a blanket, and kissed his forehead.

“Sweet dreams.” She smiled, standing up and beginning to leave. She was halfway to the door when Tooru sat up from bed, undoing the blankets she’d just fixed, and said, “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Why...” He stopped. She waited patiently for him to get his thoughts in order. His mother was always so patient, so kind. Tooru loved her, but in a way that one might love a goddess: distantly, and with little autonomy. She wasn’t his friend, despite how much love she gave. That was what Tobio was for.

Still, he pushed on.

“Why is it I’m not like you and Dad?” he asked, and, seeing the expression she wore, continued, “I know I’m not...like you. Am I...”

“We found you,” she said.

“You...found me?”

“When you were a baby. You were all alone and your parents had passed away.” It was strangely sensitive language for the wife of a mobster. “It was your dad’s idea to take you in, actually.”

The scene was not as benevolent as his mother’s tone made him believe. In truth, as Tooru would later find out, it had only been because his father was scared of his wife not conceiving—vampire births were tricky, and so vampiric families usually only had one or two kids at most. Driven by fear of not having an heir, he had made the decision to keep Tooru instead of killing him or leaving him to die, with the intention of shaping Tooru into someone who could take over Aoba Johsai in the future.

But to Tooru, who was still young enough to believe anything his mother told him, it sounded like an act of compassion, one he had never seen from his father.

“Oh,” he said, a little awestricken. It wasn’t the news of his adoption that surprised him so much as the new light he’d been given to see his dad in.

His mom smiled again. “Is that all you wanted to ask?”

He nodded, and she made her way to the door again. Just before closing it behind her, she blew him a kiss and parted with a, “Good night, Tooru.”

 

\--

 

Over time, his mother withered. Tobio was too young to understand as it was happening, but it was because of their father, because of his work. It wasn’t a secret that he’d been taking it out on his family— _it_ being his sudden, inescapable anger and his realization that he was closer to death that one would think a vampire to be. He was turning 306 soon, and his heir was still only in his forties. How could a child take over?

Tooru had no plans to take over, even once he was old enough. That wasn’t the life he wanted. What he wanted—what he dreamed about, fantasized about in the years that his father grilled him, hammered in his brain that he wasn’t worth anything but his heritage—was to run away with Tobio and his mother and leave his father groveling in the dirt, begging them to come back. Someone else would take over, Tooru was sure, and they would do it happily. Aoba Johsai didn’t need _him_ ; they needed a boss. And as long as he was with his father in that mansion, that was all he was going to be.

Watching his mom disintegrate only fueled his desire to leave. It would take a while, but eventually, he’d do it, and she would stop having to look so sad all the time. With her husband gone, she wouldn’t have to cry in the living room at night when she thought Tooru was asleep in bed, and she wouldn’t have to blindly agree with everything her husband told her and turn around when he hurt someone for information. She wouldn’t have to live in constant fear of people hurting them or taking them hostage as means to get to her husband; she wouldn’t have to pay witches to put protective spells around their house. They could live normally, if her husband were gone. Tooru was sure of it.

 

\--

 

Tobio didn’t seem to notice that Tooru was not his biological brother until their father brought it up once over dinner. The meal had been normal—meaning it was suffocating and incredibly tense, everyone in the room on high alert. Their mother was seated next to the head of the table, sitting ramrod straight with her mouth pressed tightly in a line. She was younger than her husband, but the stress and abuse wore on her, and now made them seem the same age.

Tooru didn’t remember what he said, but it was something about the sparring practice his father had been forcing him to participate in almost nonstop for the past few months, his fear of growing old forcing their training to move along much quicker than Tooru could follow. His dad complained, something about Tooru being out of it and not putting forth his best effort and wasting everyone’s time. Tooru hadn’t responded, which, in his father’s eyes, was equivalent to talking back.

“You would have died without me,” he said, because he never included his wife when he was talking about the decision to keep Tooru, although Tooru knew it to be mostly his mother’s coercion that saved him. She used to have more control over him. They used to be in love.

“Do you know how many vampires would’ve saved someone like you? Do you know how many monsters would have stopped and even given you a second thought?”

“And I’m grateful,” Tooru had said, trying desperately to think of something that would placate the man so he could finish eating and retreat to the safety of his room. “I—“

“Shut up. If you were actually grateful, you would show it in your training, instead of giving whatever half-assed performance _that_ was today.”

In truth, Tooru hadn’t been slacking off. He had just been tired.

“Dear,” his mother said, her voice very small. It didn’t do much, and her husband continued like that for the next ten minutes until he got tired of yelling and returned to his bedroom.

Tobio, Tooru, and their mom finished dinner in silence. When the two boys were on their way upstairs and far enough away that their mother wouldn’t hear, Tobio tugged on Tooru’s sleeve and asked, “What did he mean?”

“About what?” Tooru climbed the stairs two at a time, Tobio rushing to follow. He would grow to be almost as tall as Tooru later in life, but for now, he was still significantly shorter.

“Finding you.”

“Oh.” Tooru stopped at the top of the staircase. “I’m adopted.”

Tobio nodded like he understood and followed Tooru to his room. They didn’t share one yet, and now, their rooms were on opposite sides of the hallway, each labelled with their names carved into the wood. At the door, he asked a little sheepishly, “What does ‘adopted’ mean?”

“It means that I’m from someone else,” Tooru said. “My parents died, so Mom and Dad took me in and raised me like their kid.”

“So...” Tobio frowned. “Does that mean we aren’t brothers?”

“Of course not, stupid. We’ll always be brothers.” Tooru rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t as annoyed as his words made him sound.

 

\--

 

Hinata was kissing Tobio.

How they happened to get here, Tobio couldn’t remember—or, rather, he couldn’t be bothered to. It had been a long twenty-four hours. Everything was a blur of explanations and a growing look of worry on Daichi’s face and Hinata stumbling through his words because he was trying too hard to get everything out at once and Tobio having to back-track and start over more than twice during the meeting. Daichi’s office had never felt quite as suffocating as it did today, and considering every other fucked up thing that had happened recently, that was saying something.

Tobio somehow managed to tell them everything he knew. He ran through the same story he told Hinata, answering when Suga asked. How long ago was this? Do you know where Aoba Johsai is located? Do you have any idea why Oikawa would be doing this now of all times? He tried to tell the truth, but some things hurt too much to say out loud, and eventually Suga would drop the question and move on to something else. All in all, they were in there for about two hours.

He left the room feeling a little light headed and a lot worn down. Hinata followed him outside in some sort of silent understanding. They hadn’t talked about what it meant after Hinata kissed him, unanimously deciding that the situation at hand was more important than…whatever this was, whatever they were—or weren’t. Outside, though, Tobio let his feet carry him where they wanted, the air around them cool, and Hinata said nothing.  

They ended up in the animal tents. It wasn’t until they were inside and completely alone that Hinata spoke.

“So…” he started, bouncing on the balls of his feet because even now he couldn’t stay still. Somehow that had become endearing rather than annoying, and Tobio let himself notice this fondly. He was too tired to suppress things like that at the moment. “Two weeks.”

That had, of course, been another thing that came up often when they were talking. It wasn’t out of character for Oikawa to give them so much time, Tobio told them. He liked playing with people, drawing out as much entertainment as he could from a situation. If he thought that meant giving them a two-week grace period, he would do so gladly.

Tobio nodded, his eyes trained on a spot behind Hinata. He didn’t want to think about that. Fourteen days was generous, but it still wasn’t enough _time_. Karasuno wasn’t strong enough to consider fighting them, and running had historically never ended well, even if Daichi was still humoring the idea; the only viable option, the way Tobio saw it, was to listen to Oikawa, and return.

So, Tobio had fourteen days left with Karasuno. That was part of why when Hinata mumbled something that might have been _I don’t want you to go_ , Tobio responded _me neither_ ; that was part of why when Hinata grabbed his hand and asked if they could try that “kissing thing again,” he didn’t even have time to turn red before he nodded.

Hinata wasn’t a very good kisser. Everything he did, he did with so much enthusiasm it was baffling, and he couldn’t quite figure out how to tilt his head so their noses wouldn’t bump, and the hands cupping Tobio’s jaw were gripping him a little too tightly to be enjoyable. But eventually, Hinata loosened up, stopped acting so frantic like the moment he let go, Tobio would disappear—and that was when it became…nice, and Tobio thought, _So this is why Suga and Daichi do this so much._

“Come down here,” Hinata said once they’d parted. He tugged on Tobio’s shirt collar a little too harshly, urging him to bend down.

“Why don’t _you_ come up _here_?” Tobio retaliated, less from actual annoyance and more for a need to argue.

“I _have_ been,” Hinata complained. “And my calves are starting to burn!”

Tobio disguised a laugh as a huff, and faked annoyance when he leaned down.

Hinata was warm, warm all over, the way his hands and knees were in the locker room hours earlier, and Tobio wanted more of it. He didn’t want to admit it, but he liked touching Hinata, even when they were just brushing shoulders in the hallway or knocking ankles under the dining table. Hinata’s warmth was comforting and intoxicating and incredible and Tobio loved it and he was _leaving_ so he responded in kind when Hinata all but dragged him onto the ground. This was _much_ better, Tobio admitted. They didn’t have to worry about height differences here, and Hinata crinkled his nose and smiled widely when Tobio leaned over him, Tobio’s arms on either side of him.

“You’re getting better,” Hinata said, as if he hadn’t been absolutely horrendous at kissing at the beginning too. Tobio scowled, and when Hinata only grinned widely in response, he rolled his eyes and leaned back down to kiss again.

Hinata had calmed down considerably, like the weight of their situation, while it had originally forced him into overdrive, was now making him want to savor _everything_. He played with the hair at the nape of Tobio’s neck, and when Tobio shivered from the contact, he pulled away so they were looking at each other.

“You haven’t bitten me.” He tilted his head to the side, his curls moving against the floor.

Tobio blinked. “What?”

“I was sure you were gonna bite me on accident at least _once_ while we were making out,” Hinata said. Tobio hoped the way his face warmed wasn’t noticeable, both at the admittance that what they were doing, was, indeed, making out, and the insinuation that he wouldn’t figure out how to keep from biting.

“Why would I do that?” he snapped, flustered, and started to pull away to sit back on his knees. Hinata sat up, scrambling to pull him back to their original position.

“Aww, c’mon, cut me some slack!” Hinata frowned. “Your teeth are really sharp, okay, how was I supposed to know you were gonna be so good at not biting me?”

Tobio, contrary to his own frown, allowed Hinata to reposition them again. For all his bravado, he liked being here, even _if_ the floor was kind of gross and Hinata expected him to bite. “You sound disappointed,” he said.

Hinata huffed, his cheeks puffing out. “I’m not,” he said. “Just surprised.”

“Disappointed.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

Tobio, despite himself, allowed a smile. There was a lot less talking after that.

 

\--

 

“What I don’t understand,” Shouyou said, “is how Oikawa knew it was Kuroo at the raid.”

Kageyama raised an eyebrow at him, looking up from where he’d been doing the work Daichi assigned him. Shouyou didn’t really understand why Daichi was still giving Kageyama things like _school_ work when they had so many other, more important things on their plate—but when Shouyou brought it up, Kageyama just shrugged, unaffected by it. _They’re putting on a brave face_ , Kenma had whispered in Shouyou’s ear when no one else would answer him. _They want things to be normal for as long as Kageyama has_.

Not that it was _possible_ for things to ever be “normal” at Karasuno. But Kageyama seemed okay with writing out the quadratic formula, so Shouyou didn’t press it.

“I don’t know,” Kageyama answered. His pen stilled over his notebook, and after a pause, his eyebrows knitted together. “Actually…”

“Actually? ‘Actually’ what?” Shouyou sat up.

“I mean…it’s not like it’s impossible to find that sort of thing out,” Kageyama said.

“I guess it’s a little easier getting information if you’re head of the mafia, huh?”

Despite his tone, Kageyama didn’t look annoyed at Shouyou for the comment. Instead, he just looked…sad.

Shouyou had been lounging on Kageyama’s bed for the past half an hour, but now, he got to his feet and padded across the room. He could feel the vampire stiffen a little at his presence, clearly aware that Shouyou was only a few inches behind him. But all Shouyou did was set his hands on Kageyama’s shoulders and prop his chin on the top of his head.

“I don’t understand how you do that.” He regarded the work on Kageyama’s paper with a scrunched nose, the numbers and chicken scratch confusing him. He felt Kageyama release a breath—maybe from relief, maybe from amusement. Either way, Shouyou thought he did a good job, changing the subject.

Kageyama attempted to explain the process to him, but it was a lost cause. Despite how much he loved hearing Kageyama’s voice, Shouyou wasn’t paying attention to the words. He was too busy studying the way Kageyama’s shoulder blades moved when he reached forward, the hair at the nape of his neck and the tendons pulling as he tilted his head. Shouyou wondered again what blood tasted like.

“Does that make any sense?” Kageyama asked suddenly.

“Uh…” Shouyou moved so he was standing next to the other instead of behind him, leaning against the table. “Sure?”

“You weren’t paying attention.”

“I was too!”

“Then what did I say?”

“You were just…saying that that’s how you…work out the problem.”

Kageyama looked at him for a moment, and Shouyou felt his blood rush to his cheeks. “You’re hopeless,” Kageyama mumbled, shaking his head, but there was an unmistakable fondness to it.

They said nothing else for a few minutes, Kageyama returning to his work and Shouyou watching with way more intensity than the situation required. Kageyama’s eyes almost looked blue sometimes, especially when Shouyou was looking at his profile—but that was stupid to think because vampires’ eyes couldn’t be anything but red.

He’d always wondered what that was like to people who were turned. What was it like, losing even that? Most things appearance-wise were the same after being bitten, but the teeth, ears, and eyes all changed. Was it a slow process? How long did it take before the pigment was all sucked out? Did it hurt when your ears grew? Did the teeth coming in feel like having them being pulled?

Shouyou heard once that the teeth didn’t just sharpen, but the original set fell out first. He heard that you have to wait for them to grow in.

What was it like, drinking blood the first time?

“What?”

Shouyou blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re staring at me.” Kageyama shifted subtly in his chair, a clear sign of discomfort. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just like looking at you.”

Kageyama’s face heated up under his scar, rushing with blood. He looked away, mumbling _dumbass,_ but Shouyou knew that was fond too.

 

\--

 

They’d fallen into a weird equilibrium the past few days. Sugawara and Daichi were still trying to figure something out; Kuroo was still getting used to living with his (ex?) enemies; Shouyou was still surprised and delighted every time he kissed Kageyama.

The thing was: Shouyou knew this was probably a bad idea. At least, that was what everyone was _thinking_. No one pulled him aside and told him, “Hey, Hinata, maybe you _shouldn’t_ start dating a vampire who is both one, going to outlive you by hundreds of years and two, going to leave or be taken sometime within in the next two weeks.” The closest anyone ever got was the brief, pitying looks he saw Yamaguchi giving him and the hidden concern on Nishinoya’s face when he congratulated Shouyou on “finally” making a move.

He _knew_ it was a bad idea. But Shouyou was nothing if not a boy of impulse, and he’d never been good at thinking ahead anyway. He figured if he was only going to get two weeks with Kageyama, they may as well make it count.

So the two of them kissed sometimes. And Shouyou didn’t hold back on the staring or the compliments or the unadulterated adoration. And Kageyama looked a little happier, a little fuller each time they brushed hands or exchanged smiles that felt like secrets. And then he looked sad again, and Shouyou knew he was thinking _we don’t have enough time_. And Shouyou kissed him again.

This equilibrium was weird and amazing and horrible and wonderful. Could he call Kageyama his boyfriend? He didn’t know. He didn’t ask. He didn’t want to bring it up because he knew what Kageyama would say, or at least think— _we don’t have enough time_. Never enough time.

But Shouyou was okay with not putting a name on it, as long as they got to continue kissing and holding hands and playing footsie under the dinner table and brushing shoulders in the hallway and falling asleep in Kageyama’s room and being together.

As long as they could do that, Shouyou was okay.

 

\--

 

Tooru was just turning fifty when he collapsed.

“To…? …awake? Can you hear me?”

That might have been his mother’s voice. Or his father’s. He couldn’t tell. He wasn’t certain of anything except that his head hurt and his chest hurt and his spine hurt and everything _hurt hurt hurt_. He wanted it to stop.

He tried to voice as much, but he couldn’t hear himself. He thought maybe something got across because then there was Tobio, asking someone—someone—why they couldn’t make Tooru’s pain just _stop_.

“He wants it to go away,” Tobio said, sounding like he was underwater. “He’s in pain!”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

That was definitely Tooru’s father. He had snapped, and Tooru thought with an urgency he didn’t know he could possess: _don’t hurt him_. If he could move his body, if he could do anything but sit there and take all this pain, he might have sat up and said something, might have stood between his father and Tobio, might have done anything. His mother’s worried voice swam in his head; she was speaking.

“We need to get him to a hospital—“

“A hospital won’t take him.”

“Why not?” That was Tobio—young and naïve and worried.

No one responded. Tooru didn’t hear anything after that, but the next time his head stopped pounding enough to come to his senses, he was moving. Then someone was picking him up, and setting him down again, and picking him up, and setting him down, and his head swam.

Someone was touching him. Someone was sticking a needle in him. Someone was shoving liquid down his throat.

“How long before he…?”

“I’d say he has a year at most.”

That voice was unfamiliar. It was a woman, gravely and unhappy.

His mother might have been crying. His father might have yelled. He was being moved, again, again.

Touching, needle, liquid. Over and over. What were they doing to him? Where was Tobio? Was he okay? Was he safe?

“You’re sure that took care of it? That’ll be the end?”

“Of course.”

 

\--

 

It wasn’t the end.

 

\--

 

Kenma had been spending most of his time with Kuroo. Shouyou couldn’t blame him for it, but it was nice when he got to be with just Kenma again. Shouyou hadn’t realized how much he missed his shadow until he stepped out of the sun.

It was late when Kenma appeared next to Shouyou, the bed dipping lightly under him, the way it would for a cat. Shouyou didn’t fully understand the logistics of ghosts, but Kenma had been _there_ recently. Kuroo seemed to be helping a lot with that, making Kenma look fuller, less washed out. Less like an apparition and more like a person.

“You’re back,” Shouyou whispered in greeting, wide awake now despite having been halfway to sleep. He pushed the covers back as he sat up, staring through the dark at his best friend. “How was your day? I didn’t get to see you, like, at all.”

“It was…fine. I’m fine.” Kenma shrugged a shoulder halfheartedly, scooting over so he was further up on the bed.

Shouyou frowned. “What’s up? Something’s wrong.”

For a moment, Kenma looked like he was going to argue, deny that there was anything amiss even though they’d lived and existed around and with each other for fifteen-and-a-half years now. Then his shoulders sagged and he pulled his knees to his chest.

“Kuro can’t see me,” he said.

“That’s what you have me for. You know I don’t mind you taking over if you want to talk to him—“

“It’s not just…talking.”

Shouyou blinked. “What do you mean?”

Kenma’s form flickered twice like he was embarrassed. “You…know about me and Kuro.”

“’About’ you as in…?”

“We’re dating. Sort of.” He paused and seemed to shrink in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I think…”

“Oh. _Oh_! Oh, _that_ kind of ‘about’. Yeah, yeah, I know that…” Shouyou crossed his legs. “So, you’re upset ‘cause you guys can’t kiss and stuff since it’s technically still my body?”

Kenma nodded.

“I don’t mind if you—“

“No.”

“Aww, you didn’t even hear what I was going to say!”

“I’m _not_ going to take advantage of you like that, Shouyou.” Kenma’s voice was uncharacteristically stern, final. The issue settled before it was even really brought up. “I couldn’t do that to you. And neither could…”

His voice trailed off, and it was quiet. Outside their window, Shouyou heard what might have been a wolf howling.

“Even when we’re just talking and I’m using your body,” Kenma started, sounding unsteady, “Kuro won’t…can’t look at me.”

“How come?”

“It’s weird for him, hearing me speak through your voice.”

Shouyou had thought that before, but he hadn’t thought it would be that big of a deal for them. Sure, it must’ve been super weird hearing your boyfriend/best friend piloting someone else’s body, but he’d only imagined it as a mild nuisance, or something that was odd but in a funny way. Not cause for this expression on Kenma.

“Oh,” he said, for once at a loss.

“I really appreciate you letting me do this.” Kenma didn’t look at Shouyou when he spoke, only watching his hands linked around his knees.

“You know I don’t mind.”

He didn’t respond.

“Is it weird to him? That you don’t look like you?”

“Yeah. He says…he says that he’s forgetting what I looked like.”

The wolf was still howling. In the dark, Shouyou pulled the covers back, raising one end up and gesturing for Kenma to crawl under. His ghost hesitated before letting himself under the covers. Shouyou couldn’t tell if the fabric shifted to lay on Kenma’s form or if it only stayed propped up where he left it. It was hard to tell most of the time.

“I’m sorry,” Shouyou said.

“Stop crying.” Kenma didn’t sound angry in his command; only concerned, a little guilty. Shouyou brought a hand up to his cheek and found tears there. He hadn’t even noticed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I wish I could do more for you.”

“You’ve done enough, Shouyou. Thank you.”

What was left of Kenma’s body pressed into Shouyou’s where they lay, and Shouyou thought about how cruel it was that he was the only one with this privilege, to see and speak and _be_ with Kenma, really, fully.

 

\--

 

“Tell me about your brother,” Hinata said.

Tobio picked up Hinata’s hand and ran a thumb over a knuckle, feeling the raised joint and the calloused skin. It hadn’t been that long since he got here, but Karasuno worked Hinata the past two months, and it showed in his hands, his shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest. Everything he did.

“Why?” Tobio asked, dropping the hand.

“I want to know about him.”

“You already know about him.”

“I know what Suga told me,” Hinata said, “and the little bits you mentioned. I know that he’s the head of Aoba Johsai and he’s your adopted brother and that something bad happened and that he killed your parents.”

Tobio didn’t say anything. It was light outside, and they were supposed to be down in the dining room for breakfast soon, but neither of them had moved. There didn’t seem to be much point in eating meals as a group anymore, despite how Suga and Daichi pushed to keep the routine.

Now, though, he wished they had gone. Maybe Hinata wouldn’t have asked him then.

“Then you know a lot,” he said, his voice a little strained.

“But I don’t know what he was _like_. Or, is, I guess. I want to know…” Hinata paused, looking down like he was suddenly embarrassed for asking. Or maybe ashamed. “I want to know what he was like from you. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Tobio, ignoring his thrumming heartbeat, snorted. Hinata snapped his head up, face immediately scrunching up in a pout. “Don’t laugh at me, jerk!” he complained. “I’m serious!”

“I know,” Tobio said, and the brief smile dropped. Hinata looked like he regretted complaining about it now. “It just seemed like a stupid thing to want to hear. You can get that from Suga if you ask.”

“No, I can’t, and it’s _not_ stupid.” Hinata scooted forward so the two were pressed together, their knees and thighs and hips touching where they sat side-by-side on the floor, backs pressed against the bed. Hinata’s room had originally been the guest room so it was smaller than the rest, but the two had become fond of hanging out in here recently. No one bothered them in here.

“I wanna know everything about you,” Hinata said. Tobio felt heat rush to his cheeks.

“That’s stupid,” he mumbled, even though what he wanted to say was, _I want to know everything about you too_. _Everything_.

“Are you gonna tell me or not?”

“If you’re just going to keep bugging me about it, then fine.”

Hinata perked up immediately, sitting straighter and reaching forward to grab Tobio’s hand. He laced their fingers together and gave Tobio’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Tobio took a deep breath. Where was he supposed to start? There were so many places, so many things to say. So many facts locked inside his head, shoved to the back in the hopes he’d forget. Ever since he came to Karasuno, he’d tried to keep that information as tightly locked as he could, to keep his past from interacting with his present or impacting his future. He didn’t want to be reminded of his brother or his dead parents or his would-have-been-life. He didn’t want any of it.

But he couldn’t say no to Hinata, not when he had the thought _I want to know everything about you too_ swimming around his head. Not when Oikawa was forcing this on them anyway.

“He was…caring,” Tobio started finally, the words tasting heavy in his mouth. Hinata didn’t say anything. He was a good listener when he wanted to be.

“But really jealous, too. He always thought I was trying to one up him or something. I think he was jealous of me because—my parents, or, my dad, he treated me differently. I wasn’t the oldest, so they didn’t train me to take over Seijou the way they did Tooru. My mom sort of—babied me, I guess. She was nicer than my dad. Tooru loved her a lot.”

Tobio paused.

Hinata’s hand squeezed his again. “What else?” he prompted quietly.

“I think he loved me a lot too—back then. Or I thought he did. I don’t know. He always wanted to protect me from our dad. I guess he didn’t want me to be treated the same way he was, but that…kind of changed, later on. I think he realized that it wasn’t fair that he was hurt so much while I wasn’t, just because he was older. And he resented me, kind of. Since he was adopted. I don’t think he ever felt like he was actually part of the family.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment after that, thoughts racing. Now that he’d started talking, he didn’t want to stop, but there were too many thoughts, too many memories for him to grab onto, for him to choose. He couldn’t figure out which to give Hinata, which ones Hinata wanted.

“We shared a room,” he finally settled on. “We begged…the both of us begged our parents to let us share a room.”

“You _wanted_ to share one?”

“We were really close when we were little. I think. He loved me a lot. Yeah—yeah, I remember now. He loved me a lot when we were little. He thought he had a duty to take care of me because he was the big brother. And I—looked up to him a lot. I wanted to be like him when I was older.”

Hinata was quiet. When Tobio looked over, the shapeshifter was staring at their linked hands, looking teary-eyed. Tobio nudged Hinata’s shoulder with his lightly.

“Hey,” he said softly, “what’s—um, what’s wrong? Did I upset you? I can stop if—“

“No, no, it’s okay!” Hinata was quick to assure him. He smiled, his eyes still shining. “It’s just…sometimes I wonder if my sister and I would’ve been like that, you know? And it’s just…I’m…”

He really did start crying then. Tobio panicked, moving so he was in front of Hinata instead of next to him. “Hey, hey, what’re you crying for?!”

“I’m sorry,” Hinata hiccupped. “I’m so sorry about your brother, Kageyama, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” Tobio demanded. “It’s not like it was your fault the whole thing happened.”

“I know it’s not, but i-isn’t that what you’re supposed to tell someone when something bad happens?” Hinata reached forward, one hand wiping away tears as they leaked and the other hand grabbing Tobio’s. He really seemed to like holding hands for some reason. Not that Tobio could blame him; kissing was nice, but Tobio thought it was overwhelming, sometimes. Holding hands was the next best thing.

Neither of them said much after that. The sun had crept over the horizon almost an hour ago, and the frost on the window thawed from its heat. Hinata tugged on Tobio’s collar, pulling him closer so they were side by side again. That was another thing he liked—leaning his head on Tobio’s shoulder. He did this now, the tears finally dried up and gone.

“I guess it is,” Tobio said. He was speaking quietly, just for Hinata even though he knew everyone was downstairs in the dining room by now. There wasn’t anyone to eavesdrop on them here. “It’s kind of stupid, though. You didn’t have anything to do with it. It was his choice. You shouldn’t have to apologize for him.”

“He hasn’t apologized, has he?”

Tobio bristled then deflated just as quickly. He shook his head.

Memories surfaced—the ones he’d wanted to keep hidden, the ones he knew he didn’t want to give Hinata, at least not right now, not when things were so fragile. Tooru standing over their parents’ bodies. His mother still alive but just barely, her glassy eyes turning to look at Tobio. She’d whispered something, mouthed something: her last words. Tobio had spent the past nine years trying to figure out what she said. What she wanted him to know.

He still didn’t know.

“Then I’ll do it for him,” Hinata said, yanking Tobio back to the present.

“What?”

“He hasn’t apologized, and from what you’ve said, he probably won’t ever. So I’m sorry for him. It’s the only thing I can give you.”

The worst part of it all was how sincere in it Hinata was. Hinata was always sincere; everything he thought and felt and wanted, he kept on his sleeve. Nothing stayed hidden, nothing stayed buried. If he sincerely believed he was apologizing for Oikawa—if he believed that it was all he could do—then it showed.

And it showed.

“Stupid,” Tobio mumbled. Hinata stuck his tongue out at him in retaliation, but there was a softness around them that hadn’t disappeared. There was always a softness when talking about things like this. The past couple of days had been nothing _but_ soft.

“We need to get breakfast,” Tobio said. Hinata whined, burying his face in Tobio’s shoulder as if that would help anything.

“I want to stay up here with you a little longer.”

“You can be with me downstairs.”

“Yeah, but I can’t _be with you_ be with you.”

Tobio huffed. They’d talked about this, sort of; Hinata didn’t like that they weren’t open about…whatever it was they were around the others. It wasn’t a conscious decision not to flaunt anything, more like a general courtesy to the rest of Karasuno’s members. (Not that it stopped everyone from finding out and personally congratulating them, though.)

“Fine,” he eventually gave in. Hinata raised the hand that wasn’t in Tobio’s in a small victory fist pump. “But only for a little while. We’re both going to starve otherwise.”

Hinata mumbled something that sounded like _don’t be so overdramatic_ , but agreed to those terms. He nestled himself further into the crook of Tobio’s neck and stayed that way.

 

\--

 

“So I know you said that we don’t know a lot about shapeshifters,” Shouyou started one evening when Suga came to visit him in the animal tents. “But, like, how much _do_ we know? About shifting specifically?”

Suga thought about it, leaning his weight on one leg. “Well, like you just said, not a lot. Research is minimal, and there’s not even a real count on how many shapeshifters there currently are the world since there’s no way to know who’s just blending into human society.” He paused. “Is there something in specific you’re thinking about? Something that brought this up?”

“Ah, sort of…”

Bennu perched himself on a beam above Shouyou, squawking his disapproval that no one was paying attention to him. Shouyou turned around to wave at him in greeting, but the phoenix only squawked again.

“Did something happen recently?” Suga asked again. He looked…worn and washed out. The bags under his eyes were prevalent, but that seemed to be a staple within Karasuno members these days. His ears twitched every couple of seconds, the way one’s hands would twitch with too much coffee and not enough sleep.

“Kenma’s just…kind of upset because Kuroo says he’s forgetting what he looks like.”

It took a moment for Suga to register the words, and when he did, his eyes widened. He looked away hurriedly. “Oh…”

Shouyou waved a hand around. “Don’t beat yourself up about it or anything!” But it felt like a stupid thing to tell someone who carried guilt about a death that he inadvertently caused, and Shouyou cringed at his own response.

“Anyway,” he rushed to change the subject, “I just wanted to know because I was thinking…I can shift to look like other people, right?”

Suga looked up. He was quick to catch on, as Shouyou had known he would be. Anyone else would’ve taken a moment to piece the two together, but Suga always knew what Shouyou meant. That was part of why he came here for advice first.

“You want to shift into Kenma?”

“Yeah!” Shouyou paused, his mouth dipping into a frown. “Although if you say it like that it sounds kind of…silly.”

“No, it’s not silly.” Suga offered him a small smile. It was genuine, if not tired. “I think it’s amazing of you to do something like that for him. You two really care about each other.”

“He was pretty much my only friend growing up,” Shouyou admitted sheepishly. “Since I was…kind of weird, you know, with the shifting and all. But I do care about him a lot. He’s my best friend.”

Suga blinked. Didn’t say anything for a long moment, and he even though he was still looking at Shouyou, his eyes seemed to be on something further away, something just behind him. His smile drooped, a wilting flower.

“You’d do anything for him?” he asked. His ears twitched; the bags looked darker. Even when Shouyou was staring him straight in the eye, he knew Suga wasn’t talking to him anymore.

He answered anyway.

“Yeah, I would.”

Sugawara let out a breath like he’d been holding one in. He looked away, not at the ground but at a bag of phoenix feed propped in the corner. “You’re a good kid, Hinata,” he said. “Don’t let anyone change that.”

 

\--

 

Shouyou had never looked in a mirror when he was shifting fully. When he was still at the orphanage, what felt like years ago, he would watch himself grow, change into something else completely against his will. He’d stared in awestricken horror the first time he ever witnessed his shifting and not just felt it. Facial features were the worst, the scariest to see. But bones were a close second.

One didn’t shift into animals slowly. It happened all at once, so quickly you missed it if you blinked. One moment there was Shouyou, the next there was a crow, or a snake, or a rabbit or a scorpion or a dog. Whatever was needed at the time—whatever he felt like being—he could _be_ , as quickly as it took him to think _I want to shift_. Shapeshifters were different from werewolves that way. There was no horror, no bones painfully rearranging themselves, breaking and healing and breaking again; no returning to secluded areas or downing bottles of pain killer to make the process less painful, both for yourself and those around you. There was only _I am_ then _I am not_. Shouyou was lucky in that regard.

But he had never shifted into another person before. He had no idea what he would expect when he stood in front of the mirror and conjured up the familiar image of Kenma, even if only the watered down version that Shouyou grew up with. That was all it took to shift into animals, now that he had it mastered: think of the animal, think _I want to be that_ , and then he was. That was all.

This was more labor intensive. Shouyou didn’t shift immediately. He didn’t shift on the second try, or the third for that matter. His face stubbornly refused to rearrange just the minute parts of itself, refused to curve his eyes more or slim down his nose or resize his ears. His hair stayed red with no dyed blonde in sight.

By the fifth try, Shouyou was more than frustrated. He leaned his head against the bathroom mirror, groaning. It echoed through the bathroom. He hadn’t told anyone but Suga that he was going to try this, but now he kind of wished he did. Any help would be better than this.

They might not have approved of it, Shouyou thought, and that was his reasoning for keeping it to himself. He saw no issue in Kenma using his body, and no issue with pretending to _be_ Kenma if it meant that his friends were happy, but no one else seemed to share that sentiment. Even the people he was doing this for seemed uneased by the idea. The ethics of it, everyone seemed to say. Where does the line end? When had Shouyou crossed it?

He didn’t know, but he knew that he wanted to help Kenma in whatever way he could. And if that meant using possession and shifting, that was okay with him.

Shouyou tried to remember Kenma’s face again. The image was clear, definitely clearer than it ever was when he imagined a dog or a snake—so why was this so _hard_?

He spent the next hour trying and trying to shift. It wasn’t until Hitoka came looking for him, worried because no one had seen him in a while, that he gave up and promised he’d try again later, after he’d taken a break and thought things over some more.

 

\--

 

It was years after Tooru collapsed and years before everything else would that he met Hajime.

_Met_ in the way that one meets someone who will grow to be a staple in their life. Hajime didn’t come alone. His family was hired by Tooru’s to work as bodyguards, sort of. Spirits were good at that sort of thing. More powerful than vampires, definitely, and more flexible in every sense of the word. _They’re wiser than us_ , Tooru’s mother told him once. _We need to treat them with respect, Tooru. They have a lot more knowledge than you or I ever will_.

Everything about Hajime was dark and flickering, light and solid at the same time. The Iwaizumis came from a clan of forest spirits who had somehow gotten roped into playing bouncer for rich, aristocratic monsters like the Kageyamas, and because of this, neither Hajime nor his parents ever seemed fully _there_. They travelled between both planes smoothly, moving like water. One minute the living and the next the dead. Hajime never seemed aware he was doing it, but his parents did. Tooru chalked this up to his age.

Iwaizumi Hajime was shorter than Tooru by almost an entire inch, which pleased Tooru greatly. His hair was always sticking up like he’d been too tired that morning to bother brushing it, and he always smelled like wood and the air before it rained. He didn’t treat Tooru like the heir to Aoba Johsai: he treated him like another fourteen-year-old, and he didn’t pull his punches physically or verbally. They were equals.

What pleased Tooru even more was Hajime’s aging. Because spirits could flow between both planes, they didn’t age the same way humans and most other monsters did. They were slow-aging, just like vampires, and Tooru absolutely loved it. He’d never met another monster that stayed for longer than a few years, and he’d never met anyone his age that would _stay_ his age. He’d been discouraged by both of his parents his entire life not to make friends with anyone that wasn’t a vampire. His mother used to tell tragic, heartbreaking stories about vampires who foolishly mingled with other monsters and got their own hearts broken for it, by time and the inevitable. But Tooru didn’t have to worry about that with Hajime. They would grow up together. It was a wonderful, euphoric thought.

It didn’t take long for them to become friends. With no one else his age to hang around, Hajime eventually relented to Tooru’s incessant demands that they go somewhere or do something. And since Hajime’s parents had more or less assigned him to be Tooru and Tobio’s personal bodyguard, there was no escaping each other. After a few months, Hajime stopped pretending to be too busy to hang out and stopped acting so annoyed every time Tooru initiated conversation.

Progress after that wasn’t slow; they fell head first into friendship. It was the happiest few years of Tooru’s life, the time after the Iwaizumis joined his family. Later on, things would fall apart, but for those years beforehand it was okay. Where Tooru had thought of nothing but leaving his father and running away with his mother and Tobio, he could stand living in that mansion a little bit more, could handle the stress of being the heir a little bit better knowing that he had Hajime there.

Tobio admired Hajime, and that was no secret. He looked up to both of them, but by the time Tooru was nearing the vampire equivalent of fifteen, he’d stopped looking at Tobio as someone in need of protection. By then, he’d been almost consumed with envy, with a misplaced anger. Tooru hated his father, hated Aoba Johsai, and hated that Tobio didn’t feel the same way. He resented Tobio, even if he never voiced it, and so selfishly kept Hajime to himself. It felt like the only leg up he had over Tobio, the only good thing Tooru had ever really had.

They still shared a room at that point. Hajime slept in the room next to them, so he could be by their side in an instant. Sometimes, Tooru would sneak out of his room once he was sure that Tobio was asleep and make his way to Hajime’s.

At one point, he tip-toed the short distance down the hallway, creaking the door open as quietly as he could. He never bothered knocking—Hajime always got mad at him for that, but he kept doing it only to annoy him.

“Are you awake?” he whispered into the doorway, and without even waiting for an answer, he slid into the room and shut the door behind him. Hajime sat up on his bed, rubbing sleep out of his eye.

“I am now,” he grumbled, but he didn’t tell Tooru to leave when the vampire sat down at the foot of his bed. “What do you want?”

“To talk,” Tooru said.

“At four in the morning?”

“It’s still early to me.” He grinned.

Hajime rolled over. “Right. It’s hardly bedtime to you, anyway.”

“You should remember these things by now, Iwa-chan,” Tooru _tsk_ -ed. That was a name he’d given Hajime within hours of knowing him. He’d given up telling Tooru to knock it off after a few days.

“What did you want,” Hajime grumbled again, this time not a question. He was still turned away from Tooru, only a tuft of brown hair peeking out from under his covers. Tooru shrugged, despite knowing the other couldn’t see him.

“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to talk to someone.”

“You could have bothered Tobio.”

Tooru pressed his lips together. Hajime finally rolled back over to look at Tooru, the covers coming down as he did. They held eye contact for a moment. It wasn’t a secret to him that Tooru had problems with Tobio.

“I wanted to talk to _you_ , then,” Tooru amended, before Hajime could comment on the elephant in the room. He grinned for the full effect.

Hajime, completely unaffected by Tooru’s charm as usual, only snorted. “Of course you did. Because _I_ have no need to ever get some sleep, right.”

“Oh, stop being such a baby. You can sleep later.”

He paused. “It’s later.”

Tooru smacked his shoulder lightly. “Mean, Iwa-chan! Why is it you never want to spend time with your best friend?”

“I spend time with you,” Hajime said. “I’m literally your bodyguard, stupid. When _don’t_ I spend time with you?”

Tooru pulled himself up so he was sitting next to Hajime instead of sitting at the foot of the bed, forcing himself under the covers while Hajime grudgingly made room for him, mumbling something about the bed being too small. “You have your own room for a reason.”

“But you’re not in my room.”

Hajime’s eyebrows furrowed. They looked at each other, and Tooru swore he could see his reflection in Hajime’s eyes. Forest spirits’ eyes were always a weird blend of everything, an amalgamation color. Sometimes Tooru could make out the outline of the forest in them, and he wondered if that wasn’t magic. If maybe magic was so infused in Hajime that it didn’t seep out into everything. Everything, including his eyes.

“Don’t say weird things,” Hajime finally said after what felt like years of nothing but looking at each other.

“But it’s true,” Tooru insisted. “I can’t talk to you from in there, so I’ll just have to stay in here.”

“You better get back to your own room when you start to get tired.”

“Why can’t I sleep in here?”

Hajime gave him another look, this one more exasperated. Like he couldn’t believe Tooru would ask such a stupid question. “You know why.”

In fact, Tooru _did_ know why. But it was such a stupid reason that he always asked whenever the chance arose, if only to annoy Hajime. The reason was because his parents might find him in the morning, and oh _dear_ what would they _think_?! Tooru didn’t care, and he didn’t care if the Iwaizumis saw him either. He didn’t care if the whole world saw him asleep, curled up to his best friend. He knew it was weird, maybe, but he was always so drunk off friendship with Hajime that thoughts like that didn’t bother him. It only felt natural to fall asleep in here, not _“weird_.”

Sometimes, Tooru pulled himself out of Hajime’s bed at the latest possible moment, just as he was feeling his eyes start to close against his will, just as sleep was beginning to find him. He’d crawl back to his own room, Tobio still snoring peacefully in the bed beside him, and no one would have to know he’d been awake at all.

But other times, he couldn’t bring himself to care enough, and for a rare moment Hajime couldn’t either. Other times, they fell asleep like that, propped up against the headboard with their ankles touching under the blankets, drifting into unconsciousness midsentence. Other times, Tooru felt safe, protected, cared for—for a wonderful, ephemeral moment.

 

\--

 

They were relocating.

Everyone had talked a big talk about not wanting to run anymore, and to some degree Tobio understood that; Daichi had only been hurt more by running, and in turn, so had Asahi and Suga. But in the end, it seemed like this was their only option.

“He’ll find us again,” Tobio told them when the decision was made final. “You know he will. There’s—I mean, he’s been capable of finding us since day one. I don’t know why he chose now to, but…”

Daichi’s eyes had softened, and he put a hand on Tobio’s shoulder gently. “I know,” he said. “But it doesn’t make sense just to sit here. Even if there’s only a miniscule chance that this will help us, it’s better than nothing at all.”

Tobio blinked. Looked down. “I guess.”

“We start packing in the morning.” Daichi’s hand slid off Tobio’s shoulder, back to its spot by to his side. “Hopefully we’ll be gone by tomorrow night.”

They weren’t gone by the next night. Packing seemed to take longer than it usually did. Tobio remembered how it used to be, before all of this started, before everyone was so frantic and scared all of the time. When they were only moving once a month, maybe once every two, they could be out of the area within half a day given everyone worked hard enough. Now, it seemed to take hours just to pack up the tents, when it used to take minutes.

The past week, everything seemed so frantic and so slowed down. Six days. Six days had passed. Tobio didn’t like thinking about it, but he couldn’t help but keep a countdown going in his head. He wasn’t ready to face Oikawa, to face Tooru. He had to, he knew that, he had no choice—but that didn’t make him dread it any less.

The relocating was only to make everyone feel better. The only good it was doing them was by giving Karasuno a sense of productivity, of accomplishment. They were doing something, it seemed to trick them into thinking. They were fighting back, somehow. Resisting. They had choices.

No one had a choice, but Tobio wasn’t going to be the one to shatter their delusion.

Hinata seemed to have bought into that too. He thought moving was a good idea, and he bounced around the fairgrounds all day, looking for ways to help as enthusiastically as he ever had. The animals were usually the first to be relocated, so Hinata had little else to do but run around and ask for orders.

Six days. Everyone knew by now, even if Hinata and Tobio tried not to talk about it. After the first couple of days, everyone else stopped making comments about it, stopped trying to pretend things were okay by teasing them. Maybe they felt bad, knowing that this wouldn’t last—even if Tobio came out of this okay, even if Tobio came back to Karasuno, Hinata was going to age normally. Suga tried to talk to Tobio about it, once.

“Be careful,” he’d said. Tobio hadn’t responded, mostly because he didn’t know how, and Suga had sighed. It was a heavy, weighted thing, released slowly. “I know with everything going on right now this maybe isn’t…a priority, but I just…I don’t want to see you get hurt. Or Hinata. We all care about both of you a lot.”

“I know,” Tobio said. Suga was being optimistic in worrying about something that far in the future. He couldn’t bring himself to be upset over it. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry to bring it up, Kageyama.”

“It’s okay.”

Sugawara was being—naively—positive. He was still acting like Tobio had enough time to worry about something that far in the future when he should’ve been worrying about the next two weeks. Maybe it should’ve been comforting, that someone like Sugawara—someone Tobio looked up to, trusted with his life; someone like a brother to him—believed things were going to turn out okay.

It wasn’t.

By the next morning, they’d moved.

 

\--

 

“We’re not performing.”

Hitoka paused. Her back was to Shouyou, pouring a sack of bird feed into Bennu’s bowl. Taking care of the animals had mostly been Shouyou’s job recently, with Hitoka still in charge of their training. Although, Shouyou guessed, it didn’t matter much that they were trained if there was nothing to train _for_.

“Where’d you hear that?” She stood up, almost dropping the bag in the process. Shouyou rushed forward and caught it just in time, but feed still fell out. Hitoka sighed, put the bag down, and bent to pick up the extras.

“I don’t know,” Shouyou said, shrugging. “Just…no one’s mentioned it. And we haven’t been advertising for a while now. How are we supposed to get an audience if no one here knows we exist?”

“I-I don’t think Daichi _wants_ people to know that we’re here,” she mumbled, scooping the food off the ground and back into its container. “That’s…sort of the point in moving. So that no one knows where we are.”

Shouyou frowned. “We can’t make money that way.”

“No.” She frowned too. “We can’t.”

“So how are going to…?”

“I don’t know, Hinata.” She stood up, wiping her hands on her knees. It was still cold outside, but the town they’d moved to had better weather than their last, and Hitoka was dressed only in jeans and a sweater.

She sounded so tired when she spoke, not at all like the shy but eager witch Shouyou remembered meeting. She’d been anxious when they first met, but she warmed up to him quickly, and it was clear that she loved Karasuno and loved helping people. She’d always been nothing but polite, nothing but helpful. Whenever Shouyou had a question, she’d done her best to answer.

He guessed it only made sense that this kind of pressure would change her too. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it.

“Oh,” Shouyou said.

“I’m sorry, Hinata.” Hitoka gave him a small, weary smile, one that barely reached her eyes. “I’m just…”

“I know. It’s okay, Hitoka-chan, I get it.” Shouyou offered a smile back, and did his best to make it as bright and reassuring as possible. “I’ll just talk to Daichi about it later, I guess.”

She stared at him for a moment, and it seemed like there was something else she wanted to say. But all she did was turn back to Bennu, her head lowered.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

 

\--

 

“Come out, dear.”

Tooru stiffened, holding his breath. Juvenilely, he slid further behind the column as if his parents would forget he was there if they couldn’t see him.

Footsteps. Heels on tile. His mother’s face poked out from behind the column to greet him, her hair falling over her shoulder gently. She smiled at him, but it was tense. “

“Honey,” she said sternly. “You know you aren’t supposed to be in here.”

Tooru opened his mouth to protest, or ask what they had wanted so badly to keep from him, maybe—but from around his mother’s form, he saw his dad, a harsh frown etched into his cheeks. He was angry, but keeping it in check. That was new for him; the Iwaizumis presence had taken a burden off his shoulders, and he managed to subdue his own emotions more often than not. At least, in front of Tooru.

He didn’t say anything, his mouth suddenly dry, and only nodded at his mom. She sighed, turning back around to the entrance to the dining room, where her husband still sat waiting for her. They seemed to have a silent conversation before she turned to Tooru again. A calloused hand landed on his shoulder.

At seventy chrono years, Tooru almost towered over his mother. He’d had a growth spurt recently, shooting up to 180 centimeters with even more growing to do, according to the Kageyama’s family doctor. Tobio and Hajime weren’t far behind him. Now, he had to tilt his chin down to meet his mother’s eyes.

“You’re too old for things like eavesdropping,” she said. She sounded like she pitied him, but he couldn’t understand why.

“You keep things from me.” He lowered his voice as he spoke, making sure his dad wouldn’t hear their conversation. He only felt comfortable saying something like that to his mom; she would understand. And if not, she’d at least never get mad at him for something like that.

“It’s for your own good. It’s to keep you safe.”

“So I’m supposed to take over Seijou without knowing anything about what’s actually going on?”

She pursed her lips. The hand on his shoulder slid away, and he saw the tension in her shoulders only increase. Her and her husband had been speaking in low, conspiratorial tones for the past half hour, but Tooru hadn’t been able to understand all of it. Something about an old business partner who wasn’t done with them yet. Something about a witch doctor.

“Go upstairs, Tooru,” she finally said.

Tooru—for the first time—felt blinding rage towards his mother. He did as he was told, but made sure to slam his bedroom door at the end of it.

The moment the anger subsided, guilt began to fester in his stomach. If his dad was in a bad mood—if he relapsed from this sudden bought of calmness, if he decided he was done keeping his urges in check—he would take it out on one of them. Tooru had seen his expression. How angry he was that Tooru had heard them; how he was so close to overflowing. Would he take it out on his wife first, because she was the closest target? Or would he seek Tooru out to teach him a lesson? He might have just incorporated it into training after dinner that night. Tooru didn’t want to find out which he chose.

His door creaked open. For a second, he thought it was his dad—but it was only Tobio, padding near silently into their shared room. He blinked at Tooru as if it were odd for him to be in there.

“I thought you were downstairs with Mom,” Tobio said rather than asked.

Tooru had been sitting on his bed, and now he rolled over so he was facing the wall and no longer looking at his brother. “It got boring.”

“Oh.” Tobio paused. “Did you get caught?”

“Of course I didn’t get caught, stupid!” Tooru sat up and stuck his tongue out in Tobio’s direction. The younger’s nose scrunched up in distate, but he didn’t make the motion back. He had never liked it when Tooru did that, even when they were kids (which was precisely why Tooru kept doing it).

“I didn’t get caught,” Tooru repeated.

“Okay.”

“I didn’t!”

Tobio didn’t respond, going about his side of the room. Tooru huffed, closing his eyes. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyelids, forcing stars to bloom behind the darkness. It was silent in the room except for the occasional noise of Tobio moving around.

“We don’t even need to share a room anymore,” Tooru said.

“You don’t want to?”

“Of course I don’t. I want privacy, and I can’t have that if I’m in here with you.”

Tobio was quiet for a moment. “You’ve never had an issue with it before.”

“Well, we’re older now. It’s different.”

Outside his door, Tooru could hear the sounds of someone climbing the stairs, passing his closed door and continuing down the hallway. Tobio mumbled into the quiet, “You’re the only one that’s different.”

 

\--

 

Their parents were hiding things again.

But what else was new? The Kageyamas were secretive creatures. They buried their skeletons so deep in their closets no one could ever dig them up. They burned evidence; they spoke only when neither of their children could wander across them. The mansion was secure, as secure as if they were real royalty. The Iwaizumis weren’t the only bodyguards they had. Everything was a secret.

To some degree, Tooru understood keeping information from Tobio. Tobio would never have to take over, and even though he was going to spend the rest of his life in the mafia, he wouldn’t need to know everything. Only the bare minimum; only what he needed.

But Tooru was going to take over. The moment his dad passed (and what a blessed moment that would be, Tooru thought, because even at seventy-nine he still hated his father), he would be in charge of everything. He would have help of course, but it wouldn’t matter how much help he had if he was going in completely blind. Their secret keeping was going to screw him over eventually.

So, no, he didn’t understand that part of their secrecy. But he rarely tried to eavesdrop. He was bitter and angry and frustrated with them, yes, but he knew the consequences. It only got harsher as he got older and no one pulled their punches. He wanted answers, but he still had enough self-preservation not to go blatantly looking for it.

No, Tooru was quieter in his snooping. There were members of Seijou who were easily swayed with money, which was thankfully something Tooru had access to in abundance. But they knew who he was, and so couldn’t go to them directly—which was when he convinced a very annoyed, very reluctant Hajime to go as a middleman.

“This is definitely going to get us in trouble,” Hajime complained on more than one occasion. Tooru had assured him time and time again that things would be fine. What reason would they have to rat out a bodyguard? And with so much gain for them, too. Tooru wasn’t worried about it, and Hajime must’ve been a little less against it than he made himself out to be because he was Tooru’s middleman for two years. Either that, or he cared a lot more about Tooru than he liked to admit.

Tooru found out quite a lot that way. Mostly about missions, jobs that his parents hadn’t wanted him involved in, things like that. But it was never enough. Tooru wanted to know more, because no matter what information Hajime came back with, it never felt like _enough_. It never felt like the truth, like what his parents were really trying to hide from him.

He made up his mind that he was going to find out.

No matter what it took him.


	16. take the pain, ignite it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m leaving,” Kageyama repeated. He was showing something now; he shifted where he sat on the ground, and he wouldn’t meet Shouyou’s eyes. “Soon, I guess.”
> 
> “And going where?!”
> 
> “You know where, Hinata.”
> 
> \--
> 
> Buckle up yr horses reders!! :) two piars lips meet a lot and one leaf,,,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently a month right now is our average time for updating? apologies on that. ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, this fic is about to get SO lit yall the next chapter marks the beginning of what we've been excited to write since the very beginning so the updates will (hopefully, if our schedules allow) will be quicker!
> 
> get ready for the end yall. itll come before you even realize
> 
> **chapter TWs** : nothing worse than usual, although there is vague descriptions of a fight scene that ends in death; child abuse mentioned quite often but pretty much on par with the last chapter. also, lots of tears and emotions in this one

The last time Tobio and Hinata kissed, Tobio wasn’t thinking about what they were doing. This wasn’t any fault of Hinata’s, or his, really—he just hadn’t been able to keep his thoughts from running away with him for the past few days.

He thought about that as he pulled himself out of bed at midnight, changing quickly into his gym clothes before shrugging on a coat and the shoes nearest to him. No one else was awake, or if they were, they weren’t up and about. He was alone to think about Hinata’s expression earlier as he made the quick walk to their gym.

Hinata had been worried, but Hinata had been worried quite a lot lately. He’d wanted to know if he was doing something wrong, if Tobio just wanted to watch a movie or work on his homework instead, but Tobio only shook his head, assuring Hinata he was fine. “Just thinking a lot,” he said. “Sorry.”

His excuse had been taken easily and they dropped the subject, but they did end up watching a movie. That wasn’t something Tobio usually had time for—not before, at least, when they were always preparing for a new show or recruiting new members—and if he’d taken time out of his day just to relax like this a few months ago, it would’ve made him anxious. Jittery. Guilt would have pooled in his stomach with the knowledge that there was more to do. But it wasn’t a few months ago, and Tobio had only settled into the living room couch and made room for Nishinoya and Asahi when they came in later to join.

The acceptance was the worst part. Daichi and Hinata hadn’t accepted anything yet, and Tobio couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing. They hadn’t lost their franticness, hadn’t calmed down, hadn’t given up. Tobio was passed that. In a few days, he’d be gone; he just wanted to enjoy the time he had left.

He thought about this as he entered the gym, and as he warmed up. But the moment he started running through the routine, his mind went blissfully blank. He focused on nothing but his movements, the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the strain in his muscles and the pleasant hurt that came from working himself. He was going through the routine they’d been working on before all this bullshit hit the fan. Obviously no one had known that was going to be Tobio’s last show, but he couldn’t help but think it was appropriate. It was definitely their best one yet. He allowed himself a moment to mourn the fact that he wouldn’t get to perform it with them.

Tobio wasn’t particularly fond of crowds or audiences, but he could say with absolutely sincerity that he loved performing. He hadn’t at first—he didn’t want to be an acrobat at all when he first got here, but the moment he’d seen one of their shows, seen Daichi and Asahi flinging themselves into the air with an ease and confidence that was enviable, he knew that was how he wanted to spend his time here. He wanted to be a part of that family, and he was. The training was his favorite part; second was the first time he managed to run through a new set perfectly. Eventually, the shows shoved their way into third place. They grew on him, and performing became second nature. Comfortable. A part of his home.

That was taken from him prematurely. In the two weeks after Kuroo showed up on their doorstep, no one had been practicing—except Tanaka, who he saw sometimes on nights like these, stretching in the corner and looking up guilty when Tobio walked in, like he’d been caught.

“You miss it too, huh?” he’d said, and Tobio had known he didn’t need to respond—Tanaka already knew the answer. But he nodded anyway and said, “Yeah, I do.”

After he was gone and this had blown over, they would get someone else to replace his spot in the show. He knew they would; Karasuno would get over him leaving. And even though the chances of ever seeing them again were slim to none, he wasn’t dying, and maybe that would help ease everyone’s mind. Maybe Hinata would take his part.

That thought made him a little happy. Hinata hadn’t even started training, but Tobio knew he’d be good once he put his heart into it. He’d fall in love with flying pretty soon. Even sooner than Tobio had.

There wasn’t any music, but Tobio did the whole thing anyway. They usually had music during practice, but he never turned it on when he snuck in here at night, too afraid someone would hear it from the house and find him here. There wasn’t anything embarrassing about being caught, but he wanted to be alone. This was second to walking around the fairgrounds, when he couldn’t get his head to clear and wanted a private escape.

By the time he was done, it was nearing two in the morning. He took a quick shower in the locker rooms, changed into the pair of clean clothes he’d brought along with him, and was getting ready to leave when he saw the figure of someone standing in the gym’s door.

For a moment, fear gripped Tobio so tightly he couldn’t breathe. The dark shadowed everything until the silhouette was ambiguous and the thought entered his head, _He’s here early._ But the figure moved and light spilled across their face. It wasn’t Oikawa.

“Kuroo?” Tobio said, trying not to let Kuroo see how he relaxed when he realized who it was. “What are you doing?”

The witch shrugged a shoulder lazily, his hands hanging heavy in his pajama pockets. It looked like he hadn’t been sleeping much either. “I dunno. Just wandered in here, I guess.”

Tobio thought about saying something for a moment. He still didn’t really trust Kuroo, not after everything that happened, and it was a little unsettling that he was running around this late at night. But Tobio was here too, wasn’t he? He kept his mouth shut.

When he moved to brush past Kuroo, a hand landed on his shoulder, keeping him back. He jumped, muscles tensing.

“Whoa, hey.” Kuroo put his hands up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t startle me,” Tobio lied.

“Uh-huh. You can’t sleep?”

“No. I mean.” He looked away. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

“I don’t think anyone’s having much luck sleeping these days. Daichi paces a lot.”

Tobio wondered how he knew that, wondered if that meant Kuroo had been wandering around like this every night. Still, he didn’t ask. The wind coming in from the open doorway bit through his coat, and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Okay,” he said for lack of anything better.

Neither of them said anything for a second, and they stood there, Tobio unsure whether or not to leave and Kuroo looking like he had something to say. He shifted where he stood, ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, and finally asked, “What does Oikawa want with you?”

Tobio stiffened. Pressed his lips together. “Is that why you’re in here?”

Kuroo grinned. “Nah, I guess I’m just lucky tonight. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it.”

“I don’t know,” Tobio mumbled.

“You don’t have any idea at all? None? He seems to be going through an awful lot of trouble just to get you to go back to Aoba Johsai, even if you two _were_ brothers.”

“I don’t know.” It came out angrier than he meant it to. Kuroo must have seen that he’d hit a nerve. He backed off, taking a step back.

“Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to upset you or push anything. It’s just been…bothering me, lately. That Oikawa is so desperate for you to come back. Especially now.”

“Well, when I find out, I’ll make sure to let you know.”

Tobio started walking again, but he only got a few feet before Kuroo called, “You plan on giving yourself up?”

He didn’t respond. Behind him, Kuroo sighed, and the gym door closed.

 

\--

 

Shouyou distracted himself by practicing shifting. He still hadn’t told Kenma that he was doing this because he wanted it to be a surprise when he finally got it right, when he finally got control over his body again. He didn’t like that he wasn’t able to shift right now. He could still change into animals just fine, but he hadn’t managed anything more, and it made him feel like he was back at the orphanage again, out of control of his own body.

Most of his time was spent in front of a mirror. No matter how desperately he stared at his reflection, how easily he could bring up the image of Kenma, how forcefully he thought _change change change_ , nothing would budge. His eyes stayed resolutely brown, his hair red, his face round. Nothing he wanted.

On the fourth day since he started attempting this, he sat in the bathroom with the door locked for almost three hours. And when, still, nothing happened, he broke down.

It felt like a stupid thing to be so upset over. _I just need to keep trying_ , he kept telling himself, _it’s the same as before, I just have to keep trying_. But that didn’t stop the frustrated tears welling up in his eyes, and that didn’t stop them from sliding down his cheeks without his permission. He didn’t have control over his body in any regards, it seemed, and that thought only made him cry harder.

Someone knocked on his door.

“Hinata?” Yamaguchi’s voice called. He sounded worried. A little scared. “Are—are you…okay?”

Shouyou thought for a moment about lying and saying he was fine, but he didn’t think it would help anything. He stood up and fumbled around to unlock the door, wiping his tears away with one hand as he did.

Yamaguchi stood with his hand still raised as if to knock, his eyes widening in surprise when he took in the sight of Shouyou. He lowered his hand, his mouth going slack. “Hinata…”

“I’m just—“ Shouyou stopped. Just what? A lot of things, right now. He didn’t finish his sentence, but lowered his head and, when Yamaguchi stretched out his arms, took the hesitant invitation.

“I feel so stupid,” Shouyou admitted. Yamaguchi nodded sympathetically, his chin against Shouyou’s head; he was at the perfect height for that. It was nice, hugging. Shouyou felt bad for it, but lately he’d forgotten how much he really liked having Yamaguchi as a friend.

“Is it about…?” The last word in that sentence was probably _Kageyama,_ or maybe _Oikawa_. Either worked. Yamaguchi didn’t finish.

“I—I guess so. I don’t know. Yeah. There’s…” Shouyou hiccupped. “A-a lot goin’ on right now, you know.” He punctuated it with a clearly forced laugh.

“You really scared me,” Yamaguchi admitted quietly.

“I—what?”

“When you were in there for so long.” The arms around Shouyou’s tightened. He took a shallow, almost hidden breath. “I…we haven’t gotten to talk in a while, and everything’s been really hard on everyone, and I just got worried and thought…”

It took a second, but the pieces clicked and Shouyou pulled back to face Yamaguchi, shaking his head hurriedly.

“No!” he assured, much louder than he intended. At Yamaguchi’s wince, he lowered his voice. “No, I wouldn’t…no, I’m fine. Well, I’m not _really_ ‘fine,’ but, like, I’m not gonna…do that. And we’re all sort of not-really-fine right now, I guess. I’m really, really sorry I worried you.” He paused. “Was…did anyone else notice?”

“Yachi, Kageyama, and Tanaka,” Yamaguchi said. Shouyou noticed there were wet spots on his t-shirt from Shouyou’s crying. “I told them I would check up on you while they help with dinner.”

“Oh.” Shouyou breathed a sigh. He nodded, biting his lip. “I’m really sorry…”

“It’s okay.” Yamaguchi offered him a small, empathetic smile. “I get it. We’re all sort of…” He made a vague gesture, waving his hand around uselessly. “Off balance, right now. Do you, uh, do you want to talk about it?”

“Kind of,” Shouyou admitted.

“I’m all ears.”

 

\--

 

Maybe it should have hurt Tooru more, when he found out that his biological parents hadn’t died in an accident. Hadn’t been killed in an escalating situation, hadn’t perished in a fire, hadn’t been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe it should have hurt Tooru more, when he found out that his parents had been a part of Aoba Johsai, when he found out that his life was always going to end up this way, that he was inexplicitly tied to this place and these people and this wretched life.

It should have hurt him more, but it didn’t. It didn’t affect him until he found out that his father—his adopted one, the one he’d learned to hate, the one he’d heard had so selflessly saved him—was the one who murdered them.

His biological parents weren’t spies, but they’d been trading information about Seijou with outsiders for profit, and that made them worse. Traitors were dealt with accordingly. His father had been the one to pay them a visit the December of 1930; they spoke briefly, had a dinner together, exchanged pleasantries. It wasn’t until the end of the night that he’d even attacked them, leaving their infant child orphaned.

“He wanted a successor,” Hajime had said when delivering this news. The informant this time had stayed anonymous. Sometimes they did that, afraid they’d be betrayed. Tooru didn’t particularly care who told him so long as he knew. “He didn’t kill them to take you, but that had been…a consequence.”

“You mean a benefit,” Tooru had seethed. Hajime didn’t want to agree, but it was the truth.

“Oikawa—“ Hajime stopped himself. He scowled, his dark eyebrows furrowing in what would have looked like anger to an outsider. To Tooru, he just looked confused and worried. They could read each other easily by now, so Tooru wasn’t surprised when Hajime ran a hand through his hair, huffing, and said, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not going to do anything ‘stupid,’” Tooru defended automatically, although in truth everything going through his mind in that moment fell under Hajime’s definition of the word. He was angry, of course. Shocked. Hurt more than he thought he would be. His life still would’ve been with Aoba Johsai had his parents not been murdered, but at least he would’ve just been the child, the bystander—not the participant.

Things didn’t _have_ to turn out this way, and maybe that was the worst part of it. He felt like he’d had something taken from him, like they’d stripped him of his rights and humiliated him without him even knowing. How many years had he lived under this roof with absolutely no idea that this had happened? They certainly had no qualms with telling him half the story. But they didn’t want him to know the rest.

They were still keeping things from him. What they wanted to hide couldn’t have only just been his parents’ murder. Maybe he would’ve rebelled, were he less self-preserving, but that still wasn’t anything his father—“father”—couldn’t stomp out before it grew. There were more pieces he was missing, only a few left until he could complete the picture.

“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” Tooru repeated. He turned a forced smile to Hajime. “Iwa-chan, I think I still need your help, though.”

 

\--

 

Kuroo talked to himself.

This was a new habit, one that hadn’t been around when Kenma was. He figured it had probably been born after his death, some coping mechanism Kuroo had admitted to once before. “It’s stupid,” he’d said to Kenma, outwardly Shouyou. “But I’m used to it now. I know Akaashi used to really hate it,” he snorted in a half-laugh, “but he never said anything about it because he was afraid of, I don’t know, upsetting me. Bokuto just thought it was funny.”

His smile drooped.

“And a little sad.”

They’d changed the topic after that—but Kuroo did tend to gravitate towards Bokuto and Akaashi when he was just speaking to himself.

“They’re probably off covering another ridiculous job for someone with too much money on their hands,” he said fondly. Kenma sat almost a foot away in the rawest form of himself, Hinata off working with Yachi or Kageyama or Yamaguchi; he wasn’t sure whether or not Kuroo actually knew he was there or if he always spoke like this. “It feels like forever since I’ve seen or heard from them. Man, if they saw me now, livin’ it up with Karasuno. Bokuto’d have a fit. Then he’d probably have a field day.”

“I miss them,” Kenma said, although he knew Kuroo couldn’t hear him. He’d never had an issue with being unable to talk to other people besides Shouyou until now. Whereas before it had been convenient—he could tip Shouyou off on events around him, or help him with his work at school without getting caught—now it just felt…isolating. Kenma’d had his fair share of feeling isolated when he was alive. He wished he could get a break now.

“Bokuto took a liking to Hinata right away, too. He was in the middle of kidnapping him and still going on about how awesome Hinata was for shifting.”

“They’d get along,” Kenma agreed.

“You think they’d get along?”

Kenma leaned his head against the wall.

Kuroo paused. He was laying back against the bed, facing the ceiling with his hands behind the nape of his neck. The past weeks, he hadn’t left the guest room very often, outside of meals, showering, or talking to Daichi about the Kageyama thing—at least during the day. At night, he was left alone to wander, explore the fairgrounds and scenery he hadn’t gotten to admire when he was attacking them the first time. Kenma noticed that he hung around the big top most often. Not that he could blame him.

“Hinata doesn’t seem to hold a grudge against us for what happened,” Kuroo continued. He talked about Hinata a lot, too. Kenma’s theory was that he felt guilty for using Hinata, first to get to Daichi and second to speak to Kenma. Talking about it seemed to help ease his consciousness.

“He probably should, though, for his own sake. Self-preservation and all of that. If you trust someone you’ve never met, that’s one thing—but to trust someone who’s kidnapped you already?” He shook his head. “Sounds counterintuitive to me.”

“Kuro,” Kenma said.

“He’s too naive for his own good. But I guess…that’s endearing, sort of. Are you here?”

“Yes, Kuro, I’m here.”

A beat. Kenma thought for a long moment that his voice had gotten through somehow, that Kuroo had heard him speak—but Kuroo’s eyes searched around the room, flicking right across Kenma’s form, unseeing. He sighed.

“If you are,” he said, “I get why you like him so much. I’m glad you have someone.”

“I’m glad I do too.”

“I’m still going to get your body back, Kenma.” He rolled over. But he was facing away from Kenma. “I know—I know it’s taken me a really, really fucking long time to do it, but I’m still trying. And I’m going to get you back somehow. And we won’t always have to use a middleman, okay? We won’t have to use Hinata like this forever.”

“I’m sorry,” Kenma said.

“The first thing I’m going to do when we get you back,” Kuroo closed his eyes, “is kiss you. I never got to do that for real back then, remember? You still owe me one. Don’t think I’ve forgotten just because it’s been almost two decades.”

He started crying after that. There was no way to hide that part in laughter.

“I haven’t forgotten.” Kenma pulled his legs up to his chest. He felt himself flickering. “I haven’t forgotten.”

 

\--

 

Tobio wasn’t allowed to leave Karasuno.

Yachi and a few others went on their routine errand runs, which doubled for the time being as scoping out their surroundings. In the past twelve days, Tobio hadn’t been allowed to leave Karasuno’s property—and it wasn’t like he left very often to begin with (truth be told, everything he could want or need was collapsed neatly into one house, one plot of ever changing land), but even that was too much for him. He was getting cabin fever.

“That’s stupid,” Hinata said.

“It’s not stupid,” Tobio argued reluctantly. He understood why he wasn’t able to leave, and he didn’t think they were overreacting by being so careful. But that didn’t mean it sucked any less. “It’s for my own good, or something.”

“But there’s so much else to do!” Hinata gestured towards the window, which looked out over a completely empty field. They’d started choosing smaller and smaller cities, until they were only swapping out rural towns. “And besides, I haven’t gotten to explore the area yet. We should go.”

“You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“I am not.”

Tobio rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to point out the obvious _or worse,_ so he covered it with faux annoyance. “Daichi’d kill us.”

“He’d kill _you_. I’m allowed to leave.”

“Then go by yourself then.”

Hinata was silent for a moment. A familiar expression passed over his face; he was thinking. Finally, he flopped down so his head was laying in Tobio’s lap, his face turned away from Tobio. “It’s not fun going by myself.”

“I’m sure Yamaguchi or Yachi would want to have you along,” Tobio pointed out. He wasn’t actually upset about it, though, or trying to convince Hinata to leave. He was just talking for the sake of talking at this point. A hand found itself in Hinata’s hair, running through the orange curls and wrestling with any tangles found on the way.

“It’s not the same if you’re not there.”

“Don’t say weird things.”

“That’s not weird,” Hinata defended. His shoulders rose as he huffed, making Tobio’s arm shift where they were settled. “Can’t I say nice things to my boyfriend?”

Everything was still. Tobio was suddenly hyperaware of the weight on his lap, the hand settled against his leg, the whirr of the heater as it ran and the living room’s chatter muffled through the floorboard. Had his heartbeat always been that loud?

“I don’t know if that’s considered ‘nice,’” he said. Tobio felt Hinata’s shoulders deflate, but he couldn’t tell if it was in disappointment or relief.

“Of course it is! I want to be with you, wouldn’t you say that’s nice?”

“I’d say that’s a given for a—“ Tobio licked his lips. “For a boyfriend.”

Hinata’s head whipped around so quickly Tobio was sure he’d hurt himself, but they only sat there, making hesitant, hopeful eye contact without saying anything. Tobio was afraid, sort of, of what Hinata would say if he spoke. So they didn’t speak.

“I guess so,” Hinata finally agreed. A wide smile spread and lit up his whole face, and Tobio knew they were okay. He’d done okay.

 

\--

 

“Can I touch your scars?”

Hinata asked it later that night. They were outside on the front porch sitting on the steps, the chill from nightfall making them shiver under their coats. They’d go inside soon, but on the way back from playing with Orthrus, they’d started talking and got distracted enough to stay out here. Despite the cold, they were content for now.

“Sure,” Tobio said, because Hinata was wearing his emotions so clearly on his sleeve that Tobio couldn’t have said no if he wanted to. And when Hinata didn’t immediately reach a hand out, he leaned in as if to an invisible touch. Even then, Hinata raised his hand hesitantly, moving like he was dealing with an injured, frightened animal.

His touch was feather light, just brushing across the bridge of Tobio’s nose and the space under his left eye. Against his will, his eyes fluttered shut. He couldn’t tell whether or not Hinata had removed his hand.

“I really care about you, Kageyama,” Hinata said. When Tobio opened his eyes, the other’s were already meeting his, dark under the porchlight, and honest and so, so trusting. It wasn’t like Hinata had ever been scared to show people he cared about them, but this felt different somehow. He looked almost shy.

Tobio was going to return the statement, but Hinata beat him to it. “I thought about touching your scars a lot, before we were…boyfriends. Dating. I guess you call it dating?”

“In a relationship,” Tobio mumbled. Even saying the phrase out loud embarrassed him. “We don’t really…go on dates. Why did you think about it?”

“I don’t know.” The shapeshifter shrugged. “I just thought about them a lot. And I really wanted you to tell me about them. And touch them.”

“Weirdo.”

He stuck his tongue out. “Not that weird. I was just interested in you! You’re interesting.”

Tobio had never had someone describe him as “interesting.” He’d been called a lot of things, but that one was new, and more surprising than anything he’d heard. “I-I’m…not, really,” he said.

“You are to me.”

There was a chance there he was meant to take. Hinata was “interesting” to him too, and while he doubted Hinata had never had someone tell him he was, Tobio wanted to be the first one to do it, stupidly enough. He wanted Hinata to feel the same way he did when hearing that. Hearing that from someone he cared about. Someone interesting to him.

One day, he’d say that. But it wasn’t today. Today had already accomplished “boyfriend”; he wasn’t sure he could handle much more.

“I’m not interesting,” he repeated. He couldn’t think of anything better.

“You are, but _besides_ that,” Hinata smiled, “I’m glad you…let me.”

“Let you do what?”

“Touch them.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

Tobio needed to stop saying the opposite of what he believed.

“Thank you anyway.” Hinata leaned in and Tobio took that as a cue to meet him halfway; they were definitely getting better at this kissing thing.

“When we’re back to performing regularly,” Hinata said once they’d pulled away, “I’m going to take you on a real date. Then we can say we’re dating _and_ we’re in a relationship.”

“They mean basically the same thing anyway,” Tobio mumbled, but he couldn’t explain why that promise made him so stupidly happy and so stupidly sad.

 

\--

 

Shouyou managed.

There—subtly. He looked older. Different. _Did_ he look different? He couldn’t tell. He _felt_ different, and maybe that was enough. Maybe he’d changed something internally, too.

It wasn’t anything big, but it felt like a step somewhere. It gave him a sense of accomplishment, however false it may have been. No one was allowed to _do_ anything; they couldn’t even leave Karasuno except for necessities. What was there to do but practice shifting?

He didn’t show Kenma yet. But it took him hours, and then he really could see the resemblance to Kenma—not exactly what he wanted, but…close. He looked like a brother, or maybe a cousin. Definitely not like himself anymore. Shouyou had been hundreds of things since he’d gotten control over his shifting, but another person wasn’t one of them. It was surreal and exciting and a little bit terrifying.

He shifted back to normal and nearly flew down the stairway to find Suga so he could share the news, but Suga wasn’t in the living room or Daichi’s office. He wasn’t in the gym or the big top; he wasn’t with the animals. Asahi only shrugged when asked, saying that he hadn’t seen him this morning.

Eventually, he retraced his steps back up the hallway and was making his way towards his room again when he heard voices outside of Kageyama’s door. He couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but a few phrases floated through: _what are you doing_ and _don’t say things like that_ and _face it_. Suga’s voice was the loudest, the most panicked. Kageyama’s was quieter, like he didn’t quite know what to say.

“What about Hinata?”

It was Suga. That one Shouyou understood. He blinked, moving forward to press his ear against the door, feeling a mix of guilt and fear churning in his stomach with every second he stood eavesdropping. _Why are they talking about me? What’s going on?_

“Shouyou.”

He jumped, turning around. “Wha—Kenma!”

Kenma put a finger to his lips quickly, nodding towards the door. The voices inside had quieted, and Shouyou realized with a mortifying start that it was because they’d heard his outburst. He didn’t move, hoping they’d continue. Footsteps moved closer to the door. In a moment of panic, he shifted.

Sugawara left the room a second later, glancing down the hallway, probably to look for Shouyou. His eyes fell on the crow trying to hide in the corner, and he sighed, although it was accompanied by a fond smile, one Shouyou remembered seeing from a particularly nice pair of foster parents he’d had in the past.

“I know it’s you, Hinata,” Suga said. “We don’t have any other crows living here.”

Sheepishly, Shouyou changed back. He kept his head down, and he could feel Kenma’s presence next to him, probably calculating whether or not Shouyou needed his help.

“I panicked,” he admitted.

Suga had closed Kageyama’s door on his way out, but it swung open now, and Kageyama stood with his hand braced on the doorway. “Suga-san—“ He stopped when he saw Shouyou. “Hinata?”

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—well.” He stopped. “Yeah, I guess I was. But I just—I heard you guys talking about me and I wanted to know what’s going on.”

They looked at him, Suga sympathetically, Kageyama bewilderedly. It seemed only Suga had realized that Shouyou had been listening to them that whole time.

“This is something for you two,” Sugawara said, “so I’ll give you some privacy, yeah?”

He sent a look to Kageyama that was less subtle than Shouyou thought it was meant to be before heading back downstairs. When the creaks from the floorboards had stopped, Shouyou looked at Kageyama, and Kageyama sighed heavily.

“C’mon.” He moved back inside his room, waving a hand for Shouyou to follow.

“I’ll leave you alone too,” Kenma said.

“Are you going to be with Kuroo?”

He gave a small nod. Shouyou nodded back, then let the door close behind them. It was a testament to how used to Kenma everyone had become that Kageyama didn’t even mention what looked like Shouyou talking to himself.

They sat on the floor with their backs against the side of Kageyama’s bed, as was habitual for them. The desk across the room was just as disorganized as ever, covered in papers and…what looked like receipts? Something to do with money? Transactions?

Shouyou stood up and moved to the desk to get a better look. Kageyama didn’t stop him.

“What are all these for?” There were also notebooks and lined sheets covered in Kageyama’s chicken scratch; at first Shouyou thought it was his work for Daichi, but when he looked at it closer the numbers matched up with the other papers.

“You’ve…wow, you’ve been saving up for a long time. Jeez, how’d you even _get_ this much money? Does Daichi pay you or something?”

“Allowance.”

Shouyou turned around to face him. “Daichi gives you guys allowance?”

“Only a little bit. And only if you’re in the performances, and underage. He does that when we have a little extra left over after paying for the shows’ expenses or bills or whatever.”

“You don’t use it,” Shouyou said. The amount was in the thousands. It looked like Kageyama had been saving up for years.

“I don’t,” he agreed.

“Then why…?”

“I’m leaving.”

It should’ve been more dramatic than it was. Kageyama only said it, like one would said “it’s raining” or “the sky is blue.” No lilt in his voice, no sign of overflowing emotion. No nothing.

“I’m sorry, what?” Shouyou didn’t need him to repeat it, but he asked anyway. He hadn’t smiled since he heard how troubled Suga sounded, but he only felt his frown being cemented.

“I’m leaving,” Kageyama repeated. He was showing something now; he shifted where he sat on the ground, and he wouldn’t meet Shouyou’s eyes. “Soon, I guess.”

“And going where?!”

“You know where, Hinata.”

It was times like these that Shouyou wished Kenma could be with him all the time, when he wished he had someone to calm him down and warn him he was going to explode even before he’d realized it. But Kenma wasn’t there, and Shouyou’s fingertips tingled.

“You’ve never called me Shouyou,” he said.

Kageyama blinked, and the frown at the edges of his lips increased. “What?”

“You’ve never called me Shouyou, even though we’re supposed to be dating—in a relationship, whatever. And you’re telling me you’re—you’re _leaving_ and you still haven’t used my name.”

“Shouyou,” Kageyama said, and that was all he needed to before Shouyou was crying.

Unlike the other times that Shouyou had cried in front of him, Kageyama knew what to do. He moved forward and wrapped his arms around Shouyou in one swift movement, so quickly Shouyou didn’t realize what was happening until he was already hugging back. He’d been in positions like this quite often lately, it seemed. He’d always been a crier.

“Is that what you were talking to Suga-san about?” he asked. Unlike usual, he could speak through his tears. Maybe they should’ve choked him. He didn’t know.

Kageyama nodded, and Shouyou felt it against his shoulder. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “That’s…he doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Because it’s not!”

“It’s the only choice.”

“Bullshit!”

Shouyou ripped away from Kageyama a little more violently than he meant to. He’d never done that before—moved away from touch. And definitely not from his boyfriend. Kageyama stared at him, and Shouyou was just as surprised by his behavior.

“You don’t have to leave,” he said, making sure to keep his voice in check this time. “You don’t. We have other options, stop saying—stop acting like we _don’t_.”

“What are they?”

“What?”

Kageyama didn’t look angry, but his tone was firm, more serious and—completely unemotional. Despite how closed off he was, Kageyama always spoke with emotion. Like Shouyou’s anger, it was disorienting.

“If we have other options, then what are they?”

Shouyou paused, only for a second. “We—move, and—“

“And run? And keeping running? And run forever? We’re all _tired_ of running, Hi—…Shouyou. We’re tired. And we can’t keep doing that. You said yourself the other day, it’s not hard for him to find us. I’ve only survived this long off of luck.”

It had been two weeks. Fourteen days exactly. Shouyou knew that they’d run out of time, that no one knew what to do but wait, that they’d always just been surviving off of luck. He knew that, and he knew that Kageyama was right.

But it wasn’t fair that that was their only option, that they didn’t get a choice, didn’t get control. Shouyou’s spent a lot of his life feeling out of control, of his own body, his own situation, and running away had given him a false sense of power. He didn’t want to feel like that anymore. He didn’t want to bow down to other people or listen to them because it was his only choice.

“You’re wrong,” he said.

“Stop lying to yourself.”

Shouyou’s arms kept tingling. Up from his hands, to his shoulders, spreading through his body with a familiar, frightening warmth. “I’m not…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. He wanted to get angry again, wanted to yell and get in a fight with Kageyama, wanted to act like something more than a blubbering child. But the fight had been taken out of him, and all he could say was, “Don’t leave.”

“Not yet,” Kageyama agreed.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“How are you gonna get there? How do you know where they’re hiding?”

That had bothered Shouyou for a while. Everyone said they didn’t have a clue where Aoba Johsai’s base was, and yet the message Kuroo had sent made it sound like Oikawa was expecting Kageyama to just walk right back. If no one knew, how was Kageyama going to get back? Why give them two weeks to think it over if their only choice was to wait for him to come here?

Kageyama pressed his lips together, looking down. He hadn’t cried during their argument, and Shouyou’s own tears had dried, but the expression he was wearing was familiar. He took a deep breath. “I’m not going there directly. I have to…make a few stops first.”

“Where?”

“To find out where Aoba Johsai is. I don’t—I mean, I know where it _used_ to be. But they could have moved.”

“So you’re just going to wander around until you find someone who’ll know? Someone who’ll help you?”

“There’s nothing else for me to do.”

“Stay here.”

“I can’t.”

Shouyou sighed. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Kageyama’s shoulder. “It was worth a shot, I guess.” Maybe if he said it enough, Kageyama would cave in, he thought.

A hand rested on the back of his head, holding him there. “I want to stay here.”

But he couldn’t. Shouyou knew what he would say if asked further, what the reasoning would be. _I’ll just put all of you in danger_ , _I’ll just make things worse, I should just leave before Oikawa shows up. We don’t know what he’s planning, what he’ll do. It’s better to listen to him than to resist_. Shouyou hadn’t known Kageyama to be a martyr.

“I wish I could,” Kageyama said. He might’ve been crying then. His voice definitely sounded strained. Shouyou didn’t pull away to check.

“I wish you could too. I still think you could.”

“We’re never gonna agree on this.”

“No, and neither is Sugawara. What about Daichi and Asahi? And everyone else? Do they know?”

Kageyama’s shoulders seemed to deflate, like the question had placed a heavy weight on his chest, pushing all the air out. “No, no one else knows. Suga…Suga just found me packing. He put it together.”

Shouyou wished Sugawara had been able to convince him. Maybe he would’ve had more to say, if Shouyou hadn’t interrupted them. Maybe he would’ve gotten his point across more, articulated what Shouyou was feeling so deeply but couldn’t find the words for.

“You’ve already packed,” Shouyou said because that was all he could think.

Kageyama’s hand slid from the back of Shouyou’s head to the nape of his neck. “Yeah.”

“After dinner?”

“Later tonight.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ve already decided.”

“Decide again.”

“Shouyou…”

This wouldn’t get them anywhere, but Shouyou kept trying, the way he kept trying to shift into Kenma or kept trying to deny the reality of their situation. God, he hadn’t even told Kageyama about the Kenma thing. He hadn’t gotten to tell him a lot of things. How much time did they have? It was already late in the afternoon, how many hours did they have left?

The warmth spread to his neck, up his esophagus. He couldn’t manage a response. Kageyama seemed to realize it too, and only stood there, his chest rising and falling without rhythm, the only emotion shown in the trembling of his hands, still cupping Shouyou’s neck.

 

\--

 

Tooru’s father snapped.

In his nightmares, it had always been him or Tobio that his father finally took his anger out on for the last time. When he was younger, it was Tobio that usually got the brunt of it in his dreams, with Tooru unable to do anything, unable to stop it; then, as he grew up, it was Hajime. That one was less likely to happen, he knew, and maybe it was a stupid thing to fear. Hajime was in no danger, being a bodyguard and an important member of Aoba Johsai. But Tooru’s fears didn’t care what was or wasn’t likely; they only cared what would break him.

In the end, it wasn’t either of them. It was his mother.

Tooru didn’t see the beginning, or even the middle—but he was there for the end. His mother, clutching the wound on her stomach as if to keep the blood in, the organs; his father, standing over her with his chest heaving, something in his eye that Tooru recognized from his childhood. But it was worse this time, stronger. He didn’t know why. All he knew was that his mother was saying something but the blood in her mouth kept anything she spoke from being intelligible, and that his father was still fuming, still ready to break whatever was closest to him, be it a table or his son’s neck.

Tooru acted on impulse. All the years of fantasizing about getting rid of his father, about the proverbial last showdown, couldn’t have prepared him for this—but his training did.

His father was clutching a knife. Seijou was fonder of guns, but he’d always liked knives and swords and close-range weapons more. Tooru wrestled it out of a grip slippery with blood, and saw up close that there was no going back from this. His dad fully intended to kill him unless he turned tail and let him finish with his mother.

Upstairs, people were still going about their day. Tobio was probably still in their room reading, completely, blissfully ignorant of what was going on—the noise would tip him off soon enough. The scream from his father would echo through the house, long enough to reach the top floors. Tooru wondered why his mother’s hadn’t carried quite so much weight.

It only lasted a few minutes. Three at the most. Then Tooru was standing, his shoulders heaving, his mother still alive, staring at him. She’d seen what he’d done. He thought maybe there would be gratitude there, gratitude for freeing her from this excuse of a man, gratitude for saving her. But he could find nothing but pity, and what might have been disappointment. In his haze, in his shock—it only looked like hatred.

Tobio’s ignorance didn’t last long after that. He found them there, Tooru still standing stock-still over his parents’ forms, their mom still conscious but just barely. Tobio had never seen blood before then.

“Wha—what’s…what’s going…?”

Tooru made a decision.

Exactly what he said, he wouldn’t remember later. His mouth moved on autopilot, spitting something like _get out of here_ and _I’ll kill you too if you don’t leave_ and a lie about his parents. He didn’t want Tobio to know. It was better he hate him. To cement the deal, twin gashes appeared on Tobio’s face, ones Tooru never got to see heal before his little brother was running, running, and never once looking back.

 

\--

 

The Kageyamas had a lot of enemies.

Tooru knew this growing up, but he found out first hand just how many when he took over for his father. He had gotten rid of the man, but not the chains. In the end, Tooru was still bound to this life. He got used to it, eventually.

The enemies ranged from anyone to everyone. Assassination attempts were common, anticipated, and quickly thwarted. Other organizations got more creative, but nothing deterred him. Within a few years, Tooru had built a stronger, more efficient Aoba Johsai. A bigger, better version of his parents’, anyone could agree. Even if he hated it, Tooru was good at his job.

Eight years after his parents’ deaths, his good luck ran out.

There had been hiccups, near-successful attempts, attacks on Seijou but all were few and far between. Suddenly, Tooru was out of commission. First for a week, from a sudden illness that no hired doctor could find the diagnosis for, and after that had healed and he’d gotten back on his feet, he collapsed again.

It was the same swimming, consuming one. A darkness fell over him and didn’t lift for a few days. Maybe longer. He could never tell; he moved in and out of consciousness, with only Hajime’s voice to let him know what was going on.

“…happening to him?”

“…incurable…never seen it this bad before…”

He woke after what might have been an eternity. The doctor Hajime must have called was standing over him, medical equipment taking up the room’s space, an IV connected to his arm. A monitor showed a slow heartbeat. Then it picked up, and Hajime was standing over him, a frown etched into his face.

“Oikawa, you’re awake!”

Tooru tried to say something, but it only came out as unintelligible noise. The doctor spoke to Hajime briefly before he was shooed out of the room and it was only him and Tooru sitting there, silent.

“Your parents called me here many years ago,” he said. “Do you remember that?”

Tooru blinked, trying to find the will to form words. When he couldn’t, he only nodded.

“They chose not to tell you and kept a vow of secrecy themselves. But they’re gone now, and you’re on your own with a business to take care of, so I think you have the right to know. When will you be an adult, Oikawa?”

Soon, he tried to say. Only a few years. But even that he couldn’t manage.

“I guess it doesn’t matter. I have to tell you know regardless of your age, I believe. Your family had a lot of enemies, Oikawa. You know that, don’t you? Your biological parents as well as your adopted ones, I mean. And as hard as they try, they weren’t as safe as they believed they were. Do you remember when you first started feeling like this, when you were little? How much pain you were in? You would’ve been feeling it much sooner, but your species saved you. Thank God that you’re a vampire, Oikawa. Thank Him for that.”

The doctor’s lips moved. From where Tooru lay, he was staring up, the mouth shaping around syllables that didn’t connect in his brain, the noise off center from the movement, tilted. Swimming.

 

\--

 

Kageyama left that night.

He stayed for dinner, just like he told Shouyou that he would. He sat wedged between Shouyou and Tanaka, no one speaking. The news had spread. After they spoke in Kageyama’s room, Kageyama had disappeared to talk to Daichi and let him know that he’d made up his mind. Daichi must have told everyone else when Shouyou was still upstairs, standing in the hallway and waiting, patiently, stupidly—because when he entered the dining room, everyone was quiet. Only Yamaguchi was speaking, in a low, quiet whisper, leaning into Tsukishima, and from across the room, Shouyou could just see the way their legs touched under the table. Yamaguchi caught his eye and looked away, before he looked again and smiled. It wasn’t forced—just sad.

There wasn’t any pity for Shouyou, maybe because everyone was too busy being upset for themselves. Even Tsukishima, who liked to pretend he was above caring about anyone but his brother and Yamaguchi, stayed silent, picking at his food solemnly.

Shouyou tried to make it better. He made small talk, leaned across the table to ask Asahi what he’d been up to all day, poked Kageyama’s foot with his under the table. Kageyama responded with a hesitant game of footsies, but it didn’t last long. His eyebrows furrowed and he turned to stare at his plate and the glass of thick, red liquid sitting in front of him. He took a long drink.

“You’re sure about this?” Daichi whispered to Kageyama later that evening, once the dishes were put away and half of Karasuno had started getting ready for bed. They’d been interrupted from their routine to see Kageyama off at the front porch. Shimizu stood next to him, her expression level and her hands folded in front of her as properly as ever. She was transporting him as far as she could, leaving him a city over while she took a bus back. That was the plan, at least.

“I’m sure,” Shouyou heard Kageyama whisper back. Daichi looked like he wanted to say something else, protest some more maybe—but Shimizu leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder lightly, light enough to grab his attention. When their eyes met, she only shook her head.

Daichi sighed and waved Kageyama off. It was Shouyou’s turn to speak with him, but for once he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he ended up saying. Kageyama didn’t respond. They’d had this exact conversation at least three times since dinner, and every time it had ended the same: _I know_ and a sad smile and the undertone of, _but I have to._ Over and over again. Shouyou read somewhere that the definition of a crazy person was someone who does the same thing over again and expects new results. But he just kept saying _I wish you didn’t have to go_.

“I’m not dying,” Kageyama said. “I can still…I can find some way to get in contact with you guys.”

“How? We don’t have cell phones, and we move, like, every month…”

“Oikawa would know.”

Shouyou didn’t think he could cry any more. He’d shed so many tears just today, just within the past few hours, that he was surprised when he found out they hadn’t all been used up.

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Okay.” He hit Kageyama’s chest, once, weakly, more like a tap. “Jerk.”

Kageyama didn’t argue with that one, but he grabbed Shouyou’s hand and said, “Dumbass.”

It took half an hour to fully say goodbye to everyone. Kageyama had a lot of things left he wanted to do and say and not enough time, and Shouyou quite the opposite. He spent the full thirty minutes trying to come up with something sufficient to say, racking his brain to find the words he wanted, _needed_ to give to Kageyama. I love you? I’m crazy about you? I want to perform with you, I want you to teach me how to be an acrobat, I want to keep living with you? I want us to stay here together, I want you to ignore Oikawa and choose me instead? I want things to be different? Nothing sounded right. They were all true, but Kageyama knew all of it already.

What he said was, “Tobio.”

They moved to the porch to be alone for the last time before he’d leave for real. Kageyama kissed him and Shouyou tried to memorize it, what might as well have been their last kiss, last out of what felt like only a few—though Shouyou knew he’d shoved hundreds into the last two weeks.

When he left, Shouyou watched him and Shimizu’s retreating forms until they disappeared in a flash of light, illuminating the darkness for a fleeting moment. Everyone watched, standing next to him on the porch, crammed up against each other. Kenma’s hand tugged on his elbow, and when they met eyes, Kenma might have been crying. Or maybe that was just the porch’s lighting.

“Do you want to go inside?” Kenma asked. Shouyou shook his head.

“No. I want to stay here.”

No one asked who he was talking to. Kenma nodded and didn’t bring up the fact that he’d freeze if he stayed out in pajamas for much longer. Gradually, everyone else trickled inside, one by one, disappearing with tears still sliding down their cheeks or hidden behind strategically placed hands. Then they were all gone—except for Shouyou and Suga.

Suga didn’t say anything to Shouyou. But they stood there, and Suga put an arm around him, like he thought maybe a father would do, if he had one—and they leaned into each other for warmth.

“I feel so stupid,” Shouyou broke the silence finally. His voice was hoarse from lack of use and crying. “He’s not dying, and he didn’t break up with me or—or anything, so I don’t know why I…”

“It’s okay for it to hurt,” Suga said.

 

\--

 

Shouyou let it hurt.

He let it and let it and let it. Everyone known this was going to happen eventually, and they’d had weeks to prepare, but somehow it didn’t hit Shouyou until it was already over. And when it hit, it hit hard.

In his room, he locked the door. No one knocked; no one tried to comfort him. “Give him time,” he’d heard Asahi mumbling to Nishinoya as Shouyou stumbled past them in the hallway, and he was thankful, somewhere, distantly, underneath everything else. Then he’d all but slammed the door shut and thrown himself on his bed and let it hurt.

Shouyou had cried a lot of times in his life, and very frequently just within the past couple of months, but none so all-encompassing as this. The tingling was back, but it wasn’t a fire; it was acid. Riding up his arms like it’d been injected into his blood stream, up and out until it was everywhere, everywhere.

“Shouyou,” Kenma said. He was the only one that hadn’t decided to “give him time,” but Shouyou hadn’t even noticed, his presence such a staple. He didn’t answer. Kenma said his name again, maybe, or something that sounded like it beneath the roaring in Shouyou’s ears. The acid had spread there too.

“I don’t feel good,” he heard himself say, then his body was pulling itself up from the bed and he was hurling himself out the door and to the bathroom, just in time to lock himself in there, hang his head over the sink, and feel it. He watched with a distance unusual of him as he shifted, completely without command, until the boy staring at him was not him, but Kenma.

In any other situation, this would have made him happy. He would’ve been ecstatic, jumping up and down and running to tell Suga as quickly as possible for need of someone to celebrate with. But it just left a bitter taste in his mouth, and now that the acid had calmed, he took a deep breath and admired the stranger looking back at him.

“Figures,” he said to the stranger, and the absurdity of it finally caught up with him and he couldn’t stop when he started laughing. He laughed, giggle-snorts that, overheard, would sound genuine, and hunched over the sink clutching his stomach. Somehow he ended up on the ground, and when he’d finally stopped laughing, he leaned his forehead against the porcelain. It was cool against his warm skin, and he realized he was sweating. Was he sick? He certainly felt sick. Sick everywhere.

Shouyou trusted Sugawara, and he wasn’t going to question Suga’s authority when it came to situations like this—but he thought, maybe Suga was wrong, just this one. Shouyou didn’t think it was okay to hurt. Not like this. Not so fully.

Eventually, he peeled himself off the bathroom floor, shifted back to normal, and tried to make it look like he hadn’t just been bawling his eyes out. Kenma was in his room, sitting on the bed and looking at the ground. His head shot up when he saw Shouyou walk in, and they met eyes.

“Let’s go see everyone,” Shouyou said.

“You don’t want to be alone,” Kenma said instead of asked.

Shouyou shook his head. He ran a hand through his hair, hyperaware that this was _his_ hair, the shocking red it had always been, and remembered what it had the potential to be. “We…need to be together right now. I think.”

“If you’re sure.”

He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t tell Kenma that, and they left the room together. Downstairs, Daichi was in the living room with Asahi and Shimizu, discussing something in hushed tones. Sugawara might have been asleep already. Shouyou didn’t know.

They stopped talking when they heard him. A pit formed in Shouyou’s stomach.

“Hinata,” Asahi said when Shouyou entered, like he hadn’t known Shouyou was coming. He offered a forced smile. “How are you…how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” he offered. None of them had said anything to each other since he entered, but he didn’t miss the look Shimizu and Daichi shared. “What’s going on?”

“Resting,” Daichi said.

Shouyou frowned. Before he could stop himself, he said, “I know something’s up and that you don’t want me to know what it is. But I kind of think the past couple of months proved that there’s no good in hiding things, so can you please not keep it from me?”

They looked at him. From the doorway, Kenma raised an eyebrow.

It was Daichi who relented first. “Shimizu thought she saw someone when she was getting a ride back. Someone from Aoba Johsai.”

Shouyou’s blood ran cold. “They’re coming?”

“We don’t know.”

“But—but Oikawa got what he wanted, didn’t he? Kageyama’s going, so why’s he still coming here?”

“We don’t know.”

No one knew anything. Shouyou was sick of not knowing. Behind him, he felt the shift in Kenma’s mood—felt what might have been a drop in temperature, in realness, and when he turned around, Kenma was flickering.

“Kenma? Are you okay?”

“I need to tell Suga,” Daichi said, standing. The doorbell rang.

It was the same as when Kageyama told Shouyou he was leaving—the same feeling, that things should’ve been different, bigger, more…destructive. The feeling that everything and nothing had changed. If there had been a swell of music or a flash in an explosion or gunfire or a dramatic opening line like Kuroo had entered with, maybe things would’ve felt more real.   
But there was none of that. There was only the moment before anyone knew what to do, then the decision; there was only Daichi’s feet against the floor, silent; there was only the opening of the door and, behind Daichi’s broad shoulders, the figure of what might have been a nightmare.

Shouyou didn’t move. He stayed rooted where he stood, but he could just barely make out the flash of a smile: charming and hypnotic. A snake the moment before it sank in its fangs.

“Oh, Sawamura-san!” Oikawa Tooru said. “We finally meet!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have a whole tag on [grays blog](http:/calliopin-around.tumblr.com/tagged/mv-au) dedicated to news abt this fic, drawings of the characters (the outfits r super snazzy and u get to see kags scar Up Close and Personal), and various side fics and such !!! go check it out!! (also gray keeps a [pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/calliopinaround/ff-circus-of-crows/) for it too if yall care ahah)
> 
> also: we love comments!!! they fuel us!!!! please leave them!! u have no idea how motivating they are when it comes to spittin out these 10k and up chapters ahhhh


	17. i must've forgot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama wasn’t here. Would he come? Of course he would, but maybe that was worse. Oikawa said he wouldn’t do anything to Shouyou so long as Kageyama did what he wanted, but he had no idea what Oikawa had in mind. It could be worse than whatever torture for Shouyou he had planned. Shouyou didn’t want Kageyama to hurt anymore.
> 
> \--
> 
> yet another stole,, 2=1,,, :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 17! we're rapidly approaching the end yall! B^) strap in ur seat belts it gonna be a Wild Ride
> 
> only took us two weeks this time and this chap is 12k so.... lots of things happen aha
> 
> if any of u guys have followed us on tumblr and seen the artwork done for this fic (.....which u can find [here](http://calliopin-around.tumblr.com/tagged/mv-au) or [here](http://theknightofblood888.tumblr.com/tagged/mv-au)) all the weird, hinted at designs will start to make sense hopefully.... [eyeball emoji]
> 
> **chapter TWs** : dissociation (not technically, but the language and descriptions are similar to an episode of depersonalizing or dissociating), mentions of nonconsensual drug use/medication, kidnapping but yall already knew that was coming
> 
> (also: grays taking [writing commissions](http://calliopin-prose.tumblr.com/post/153157224879/writing-commissions) because hes broke and needs money if any1s interested in that)

Kenma was…somewhere.

He and Shouyou had never been far enough from each other to figure out just how long Kenma’s leash was; they’d never had a need to, and it hadn’t been their priority to check in the past two—nearly three—months. So Kenma was surprised when it hurt, excruciatingly, the moment that they were separated.

When Shouyou was first taken, Kenma hadn’t thought to follow. He’d been too shocked and panicked to think to before the pain hit him. Kenma caught up with them quickly, the decision more muscle memory than a decision at all.

Then they were in the trunk of truck—then they were transporting. Kenma hated transporting. Monsters and humans didn’t feel much when they transported. The worst they got was a little nausea when it was over, but Kenma wasn’t a monster _or_ human anymore, so it affected him worse. He’d done it a million times when he was alive, but the first time he did it post-death, it had shocked him just how badly it hurt. After that, he tried to avoid it if he could.

But this part was inevitable. One moment he was sitting next to Shouyou’s unconscious body, a sight he admittedly did not quite like seeing, then he felt the pop in his ears and the restriction in his chest and the nausea and they could be anywhere. The car had transported with them. There were no windows in the back, and Kenma couldn’t make out how many of their captors were in the front seat from voices alone. Oikawa wasn’t a witch himself; how many witches did he have working for him then? Apparently enough to move a car and all its contents with ease.

The car jostled, shaking the two of them. Shouyou’s body jumped as they went over a pothole and he rolled over from the force, his hands tied behind his back and his legs bound together. Kenma had expected Oikawa to gag and blindfold Shouyou too, but the cloth had never come. Apparently the legs and arms had sufficed. Kenma wondered if they knew he was a shifter, and wondered if Shouyou could free himself if he shifted.

Kenma reached a hand forward to tug at the rope around Shouyou’s ankles experimentally, but he couldn’t get a solid grasp on it. Sometimes he was lucky enough to pick things up, feel the warmth of blankets and clothes and other pressure, but other times, he was not. Kenma had never fully understood the nuances of being dead, why occasionally he was more alive than usual and vice versa. But now, he was really wishing for a pair of consistently-working hands.

At the house, Kenma had known Aoba Johsai was there before Oikawa made his grand entrance. He could feel them, the sinister air they carried. They were infamous, untouchable, royalty in violence, and they all knew it— _especially_ Oikawa Tooru. They could do whatever they want, and they were going to. He had even asked them to hand over Shouyou at first, quite politely.

“You’re Hinata Shouyou, yeah?” He’d met eyes with Shouyou, gaze flitting right over Kenma. “I’m afraid I need you to come with me, if you don’t mind.”

“Kageyama’s already done what you want,” Daichi protested. “He left three hours ago. He’s on his way to Aoba Johsai’s base right now—we complied, we listened to your terms, and the fourteen days aren’t up yet. What could you possible want Hinata for?”

His voice was just barely being kept in check. Kageyama leaving had taken a toll on him, on everybody in Karasuno, and Kenma wondered what they would do if another one of their own was taken.

Oikawa cocked his head to the side, brown hair swaying with the movement. Everything he did had an air of condescension around it. “Oh, so he listened? That’s interesting. I didn’t think he would actually do it.”

Daichi said nothing, only waiting. Behind him, Asahi and Shimizu had made a makeshift barrier between Shouyou and Oikawa, hiding him, protecting him. Kenma stood to the side, watching as an outsider as the events unfolded.

“Well, anyway, he’s not here _now_ , and I don’t know that I can believe you. We’ve only just met, after all.” Oikawa waved a hand through the air nonchalantly. Daichi’s fists clenched at his sides tighter and tighter as the seconds ticked by. “Think of it as insurance. If Kageyama shows, does what I need him to, and doesn’t try to run away, I’ll give him back. Sound like a plan?”

“Go to hell,” Daichi spat.

“Rude.” He frowned. His gaze slid over to Shouyou, who’d peaked out behind Asahi’s broad shoulders and was watching with wide, frightened eyes. Oikawa heaved a heavy sigh, like it pained him to say this: “Guess I’ll be taking him forcefully then.”

The three of them had tried. They had, and that was the worst part—because within moments, Oikawa had them all incapacitated, so quickly that if Kenma had blinked he would’ve missed it. It didn’t matter how athletic Karasuno was; in the end, they were still only a circus, and no match for Oikawa Tooru.

Shouyou was unconscious. The last image Kenma had was Daichi on the ground, Shimizu rushing to his side to help him up, all three of them staring through the screen door as Kenma left to catch up. They hadn’t been able to believe that just happened. Kenma hadn’t either.

Kenma tried again to untie Shouyou’s binds, but still got nothing. His fingers slipped around it, refused to listen to him. He leaned back against the backseat’s door and watched his friend’s breathing. At least they hadn’t killed him—but that had more to do with having the upper hand over Kageyama, Kenma thought. Shouyou, as a hostage, was much more valuable alive than dead.

The car hitched over another bump. Distantly, Kenma could hear speaking, Oikawa’s smooth, sinuous voice paired with someone else’s, someone unfamiliar. He definitely had other people with him, but still, Kenma could only hear one. Were they the witch that transported them? How powerful were they, in that case?

Kenma could make out nothing. After some hesitation, he slid through the wall separating the backseat from the rest of the car, pulling himself through. He didn’t like moving through objects.

There were three people in the car, excluding Shouyou and Kenma, but Oikawa was the only one Kenma recognized. He sat in the passenger seat, resting his feet on the dashboard while the man in the driver’s seat fussed at him to put his feet down.

“You’re gonna scratch it up, Shittykawa,” he said, and Kenma was surprised when Oikawa only pouted before complying.

“You could’ve asked nicely, you know.”

“As if you would’ve listened.”

“I always listen to you.”

The third man sat behind them, looking uninterestedly out the window. Occasionally, he’d pop in a jab at Oikawa along with the other man, and the first one would shoot him a grin through the rearview mirror. It occurred to Kenma that Oikawa had friends—ones that he let tease him. It was startlingly, to see the vampire who’d so willingly driven Kageyama out of his home and kidnapped Shouyou joking around with others. Caring about people.

Eventually, Kenma couldn’t sit back there and listen to them anymore. He slid back through the wall and to Shouyou, who still lay unconscious on the floor, and sat down next to him.

After what must have been a few hours of sitting there, the car jerked to a stop, and Kenma could hear the three getting out of the car, slamming the doors, talking to each other. The trunk opened, letting light flood in, and the man who had been driving pulled Shouyou’s body out with ease, flopping him over his shoulder with surprising care.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” Oikawa said from somewhere out of Kenma’s line of vision. “He’s going to get a bit roughed up anyway.”

The man rolled his eyes, and Kenma hurried to get out of the trunk before he slammed it closed. He wondered if this man really wanted to be doing this to Shouyou, and why, if he didn’t, he went along with it anyway.

They were at a mansion: intimidating and breathtakingly beautiful. A fitting base for Aoba Johsai, Kenma could admit, located on a cliff overlooking the sea. He wondered how long it would take Kageyama to find this place, or how long it would take for news of Shouyou’s kidnapping to reach him.

Kenma followed the three of them, doing his best to memorized the layout of the mansion. Security was high, hard to breech, with a lot of technology Kenma hadn’t known existed and a lot of spells. He could feel how well protected this place was, could feel the magic beating around them. Bumping in rhythm around the house like a heartbeat, hundreds of years of magic meant to protect their headquarters working in tandem. Everything looked lived in. Did Oikawa live here? Was this where Kageyama had grown up?

Shouyou was taken into a small room on the third floor. It was empty, save a window, a bed, and a chandelier hanging above them. The man untied Shouyou only to tie him back up again, this time slipping shackles on his ankles and wrists. Oikawa stood at the doorway, watching the process with arms crossed over his chest, pointed ears flicking every now and then in what might have been agitation. Or maybe just satisfaction.

He tried, but Kenma could find no resemblance between Oikawa and Kageyama. He knew they were adopted, but he thought maybe he could find something in common between them, a gait or a habit or a way of glancing at someone—anything.

There was nothing.

“We should give him his medicine before he wakes up,” Oikawa said. “How long do you think he’ll stay passed out?”

The man shrugged, letting go of Shouyou. Again, he laid him on the ground with care, not the way one would normally treat a hostage. “An hour, I’d say. Maybe less, if you went easy on him.”

“I tried to.”

He shot Oikawa a look, but the vampire only smiled. “In that case, let’s go ahead and give it to him, yeah? I’ll get Matsukawa.”

“I’ll stay in here.”

“Smart,” Oikawa nodded. “Don’t want Casper getting any ideas.”

Kenma realized he was talking about him at the same moment that Oikawa made eye contact with him. Whether it was on purpose or just coincidence, he didn’t know, but he held that contact until Oikawa waved a hand at the man and started out the door.

“Be right back, Iwa-chan,” he called, and the door shut heavily behind him.

“Don’t worry,” the man said. “He can’t see you.”

Kenma stiffened.

“I can’t say the same, though. And he knows that.”

He didn’t say anything, afraid of speaking. Was this man—he could see Kenma? Why? Kenma had never met anyone who could see him besides Shouyou, not monster, not human. Why could he?

If he could, he’d done a good job of hiding it. His eyes had glanced right over Kenma a hundred times on their way here, and he’d never faltered. How long had he been pretending not to see people like Kenma?

“My name’s Iwaizumi Hajime. I thought it might be best you know my name if I know yours. Kozume, you know you aren’t safe, don’t you?”

Iwaizumi looked at him then. His eyes seemed to stare right into Kenma, and they flooded with magic, all of him bump-bump-bumping with the rest of the house. He was worse than a witch, more powerful: every bit of him was coursing with magic, concentrated in his eyes. Kenma could find no hostility there, no violence, nothing evil. Nothing like what he’d seen when he looked at Oikawa.

“Why are you helping him?” was what came out of Kenma’s mouth. He still hadn’t moved.

“Oikawa is ruthless,” Iwaizumi said. “And he’s…scary smart, and dangerous. But he can be stupid, sometimes, and I’m the only one that can stop him. I made a promise a long time ago that I would protect him.”

“You don’t have to help him to protect him.”

“No,” he admitted. “And I don’t like it. But that’s…partly me being selfish.”

“You don’t seem like a coward to me.”

“And you don’t seem like one to ask so many questions. Or to bother with a shapeshifter.” Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed, not unkindly. He studied Kenma for a long, silent moment, until behind him, Shouyou stirred.

“I don’t think we’ll get to talk after this,” he said. “I hope you make it out of this alive.”

The door swung open with a creek, and Oikawa waltzed in with a new stranger in tow, looking grim. The two of them were pushing a cart of medical equipment. Kenma’s mouth dried.

Oikawa didn’t meet eyes with him again, but he got close to it, looking a little to Kenma’s left. “Ready, Casper?”

 

\--

 

Tobio hated public transportation. He’d figured that out after coming to Karasuno when he’d accompany Daichi to recruit new members. He couldn’t stand loud noises or too many people or proximity with strangers; all of those mixed together was an obvious no for him. Most times, he’d be standing, holding on to a rail and keeping his eyes pointedly averted from anyone else, trying to take up as little space as possible. With nothing to distract him, he’d have to stand there, pretending the outside passing them was the most interesting thing around.

Most times. But this wasn’t most times, and Tobio was too distracted to move away when a woman brushed against him on accident or to give up his seat when an old man hobbled onto the train looking tired. He was trying his best to only take things moment by moment, minute by minute. If he thought too much about what lay farther in his future, he didn’t know what he’d do.

So he focused on the train, on where his stop was, where he needed to go once he got off. They’d be arriving in five minutes, a voice over the speakers told him. He clutched the bag next to him tightly. He’d tried to pack only what he needed. It was a good thing Tobio had never cared much for material things.

He stepped off, following the flow of the crowd in front of him. He didn’t recognize where he was, but the sign told him it was correct. Tobio’s plan was vague and disorganized at best. At worst, it could put Karasuno in danger. He only had a day left to get there before Oikawa did who knew what. He needed to make sure he had Aoba Johsai’s location confirmed.

Every town with a high population of monsters had stores meant for all things magical. More often than not they were small things, usually targeted towards witches and psychics and run by locals, but occasionally one could find more generic chain stores that tried their best to carry everything. Tobio didn’t care which one he found so long as he found one. He’d even settle for a monsters-only bar at this point.

It took an hour of wandering around town (accompanied by unhelpful directions from strangers he found the nerve to ask as they were walking by), but eventually, he came across one. Locally owned, although it didn’t matter at this point. The doorbell chimed as he entered, and the woman behind the counter greeted him.

“Anything I can help you with?” she asked. Tobio clutched his bag awkwardly, his fingers tightening around the handles.

“Uh, I was wondering if you have any information on…” He paused. The woman looked at him curiously, and he came closer to the counter, lowering his voice. “On, uh, Aoba Johsai? Or do you know anyone who would?”

Her expression turned dark. She sighed, leaning back in her chair as she tapped a finger on the counter. “I shouldn’t talk to you about this.”

“Please,” he said. “It’s important. Do you know anyone who would know?”

She stared at him for a long moment, maybe trying to gauge whether or not his request was worth the trouble. Tobio hadn’t actually known whether or not anyone in this town would know about Aoba Johsai, but they were infamous within the monster community. You didn’t have to be involved in the mafia to know they existed, and you didn’t have to see them for yourself to fear them. He’d figured it was worth a shot.

Finally, she sighed. “Try the bar down the street. There might be someone there that’ll be willing to help you.” She eyed him one last time. “You better be prepared to pay.”

“Don’t worry about me. Thank you.”

“Don’t get into any trouble, kid.”

Tobio was getting in nothing but trouble, but he didn’t tell her that. The door chimed again as he left.

He didn’t get to the bar.

One moment he was waiting alone at a crosswalk for the light to turn green, the next Suga and Yamaguchi were standing next to him. Had he been paying attention, he would’ve felt the shift in the temperature right before they popped into existence, but as it was, he’d been too busy staring at the light to notice.

“Kageyama!” Yamaguchi stumbled forward, Suga grabbing his elbow to keep him from falling. They looked surprised to see Tobio there, blinking at him as if they weren’t the ones who’d transported.

“What are—“ Tobio started to ask. His question died in his throat when he saw the looks they were wearing.

“You were too late,” Suga said. “Oikawa was…he was already on his way when you left. He showed up at Karasuno—“

“What?!”

“He took Hinata.”

The expression he wore must have frightened them because Suga flinched and Yamaguchi avoided his eye. “He…took Hinata,” Tobio repeated.

“He said it was—“ Suga paused. “It was ‘insurance’ or something, and that he’d give Hinata back if you did what he wanted you to. I don’t…We don’t know where Aoba Johsai is located. We don’t know what he’s going to do with Hinata if you don’t show up in time. Kageyama, do you know?”

“Where they are?”

Both of them nodded. Tobio’s eyes flickered to the light. It was green, but they didn’t cross.

He’d been too late. He’d been too late. He should’ve left a day ago, two days ago—but he’d wanted to stay for as long as possible, so much so that he’d risked this and put Karasuno in danger because of it. Was this what Oikawa had been planning to do all along? Had he always been planning on kidnapping someone from Karasuno when he came to get Tobio? Had he known what Hinata meant to Tobio or had that been perfect coincidence?

“I know where it used to be,” he told them. “But I…I don’t know if that’s where they’re still located.”

“That’s good enough for now,” Suga said. “We need to leave as soon as we can.”

“’We’? Sugawara-san, you can’t—“

“Don’t say we can’t come with you.” He put his hands on his hips, giving Tobio the same look he had for years now, the no-bullshit-allowed one. “You can’t go in there alone if he’s got a hostage. Even if you do what he tells you to, you need backup. He’s not exactly known for being the most trustworthy.”

They stared at each other like that for a moment. Yamaguchi stood next to Suga, shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously, looking between the two while they held a silent conversation. Tobio gave in.

“Fine. I don’t want to put everyone in danger, so not everyone can come—“

“Of course not.” Suga set a hand on Tobio’s shoulder. “Only the bare minimum. But we care about you and Hinata, alright? This is more than just about you now. Don’t act like you’re in this alone.”

 

\--

 

Shouyou woke up with cotton balls in his mouth.

Okay, so—he didn’t _actually_ have anything in his mouth. Upon closer inspection, his mouth was just incredibly dry. His head hurt. His hands and feet hurt, and there was a shooting pain in his left forearm that he couldn’t quite place. It tingled as if with magic, and when he tried to move, it only made it worse.

He tried to ask _where am I?_ but found that his voice wasn’t working, and the question only came out sounding like a wheeze. No one else was here. Where was Kenma? He remembered that he’d been taken—that serpent grin, Daichi yelling, someone slamming into him and the ground rushing forward all too quickly. He’d been taken somewhere. _Oikawa kidnapped me_ , he realized. Shouyou seemed to be everyone’s first choice for a hostage these days.

He didn’t remember anything after that. Had Kenma come with him or had he stayed at Karasuno? But Kenma had never been able to leave him before, so was he forced along? Why couldn’t Shouyou see him then?

“Hello?” His voice worked that time, although it came out as a whisper. Moonlight filtered in from the window behind him, bars covering it to ensure he wouldn’t escape. When he found it in himself to move, he looked out the window to find that this side of this building—where ever he was—was on the edge of a cliff. If he jumped, he’d fall not only the height of the building, but all the way down to the ocean too.

So that plan was out of the question.

Other than that, there didn’t seem to be any other way to escape. The room was bare, although nicer than he imagined it being. A bed sat on one side, pressed against the wall and bolted to the floor. Shouyou’s ankle was chained to the wall with the window, something he’d found out when he tried to move towards the door and was almost yanked to the floor, but it had enough leeway for him to reach the bed. The metal against his skin was hard and biting and painful already.

There were heavy footsteps outside Shouyou’s room and then bolts being moved around. The door opened with a long groaning sound, and Oikawa strode in, looking completely at home.

“Sho-chan, you’re awake!” He smiled. If Shouyou weren’t chained to a wall right now, he might have mistaken that for genuine happiness at seeing him—but as it was, he scrambled away from the door and as far away from Oikawa as he could get, his back hitting the wall.

Oikawa stopped when he saw Shouyou’s panic, head titled like he was confused. “There’s no reason to fear me right now,” he said. “I’m not going to do anything to you so long as Tobio shows up in the next…oh, let’s say, twenty-four hours? I know how far away your location was from here, so I’ll be generous.”

Shouyou’s eyes bounced between Oikawa’s face and the open door behind him, and he saw the vampire’s eyebrow raise at the obvious glance.

“You’re already planning how to escape? That’s a shame. If you try, then I really won’t be able to go easy on you. And I’d been looking forward to speaking with you so much, too.”

“Where am I?”

“You haven’t figured that out yet?” He grinned. This one was definitely less friendly. “Aoba Johsai, obviously.”

“No, I mean—“ Shouyou stopped. That was the answer, but he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Where was—where was _Kenma_? “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing that wasn’t necessary. I just knocked you out for a while, that’s all. Like I said, there’s no need for you to fear me right now. I’m not the type for senseless violence.”

Shouyou frowned. “You’re in the mafia.”

Oikawa laughed. He didn’t respond to that, and Shouyou shifted where he sat, still trying to press against the wall. The chains rattled when he moved. _Ken?_ He thought, desperately, a last ditch effort. _Kenma, I’m really freaked out here. I don’t want to be alone_.

Maybe that was mean to think—to wish that Kenma was trapped here with him rather than safe at Karasuno. But Shouyou thought it once and then couldn’t deny the truth of it. He didn’t want to be alone. This was different than when Kuroo had kidnapped him. Kuroo might not have hurt him, only threatened—but Oikawa would, and he’d do so gladly.

“You’re feeling alright, Sho-chan?” Oikawa asked. “You look pale. I can get you something to drink, if you’d like.”

Shouyou ignored how odd that offer sounded coming from his kidnapper. “How do you know my name?”

Oikawa clicked his tongue. “I know everything about everyone I need to, Shouyou—I guess I should call you Hinata, but ‘Sho-chan’ just fits much better, I think. You’re fifteen, a shapeshifter, an orphan, and until three months ago you lived in an orphanage a few hours away from here.” He titled his head. “Then you joined Karasuno, were held hostage by Kuroo on his way to getting revenge, and now you’re here. Oh, and your relationship with Tobio is a little bit different than others. Did I get it right?”

Shouyou didn’t need to say yes. He looked away, unable to stare at that grinning face any longer. This was the man that’d given Kageyama his scars, the man who’d murdered his parents and tried to tear Kageyama from the one family he had. How could he look at him, knowing he’d done all of that to Kageyama? Knowing he was still doing it?

“I almost forgot—you have a friend with you, don’t you? The little witch that Kuroo is so obsessed with.”

Shouyou’s blood ran cold. His head shot up, wild eyes turned on Oikawa. “How did you—?”

“I told you I know everything.” The vampire winked, tapping his nose. “Although, you may not be able to speak with your friend for a while. I’m sure he’s still trying to recover.”

_Recover_? “What did you do to him?!”

“Don’t jump to any conclusions. He’ll be fine; the medicine we gave you just might make him a little…disoriented, that’s all. He should be back within the hour.”

“Medicine…? What medicine? Why would he need—?”

“Just more insurance,” Oikawa waved the question off. “Nothing you need to worry about. He’ll be fine, just a little less mobile than before. I can’t have him running around while you’re locked up here after all.”

He started back towards the door, and Shouyou couldn’t help releasing a breath at the distance put between them. He stopped, one hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at Shouyou.

“I won’t be back for a while,” he said, “but someone else should be here to check on you in, oh…say, an hour? Maybe more? Until then, I’d suggest getting comfortable. There’s not much else to do.”

The door slammed shut behind him, and Shouyou could hear the clanking of keys on the other side. It was locked.

He flopped down on the ground and let out a scream—either from frustration or fear, he didn’t know. He hadn’t felt this helpless in a long time.

_Kenma_ , he thought again, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair distractedly. _I could really use you right now. Kenma, I’m scared. He said he didn’t hurt you but…_

_I’m okay_.

Shouyou’s eyes shot open. He sat up. _Kenma?!_ he thought frantically, eyes searching around the room. _Was that you?! Where are you?!_

_I don’t know_. A pause. _I think…_

_Are you in my head_?

Kenma didn’t respond to that. Shouyou propped himself up against the wall. _Oikawa said he gave you medicine. Is this what he did?_

_I think so_ , Kenma said. Thought? Shouyou couldn’t tell. It was clearly Kenma’s voice, but it sounded the same as Shouyou’s own thoughts. This was different than when he let Kenma possess him; then, he wasn’t in control, left only to watch, like handing over control to someone else for a little while. But they hadn’t communicated like this. Shouyou, when possessed, couldn’t speak at all.

So what was this then?

_I’m really freaked out_ , Shouyou thought. He could hear footsteps passing outside his door, but none stopped, only moving past him. He wondered how many people knew he was here. He wondered what Karasuno was doing right now.

_I know_ , Kenma thought back. There was nothing physical, but Shouyou thought he could feel something warm in his chest that wasn’t from him—like Kenma reaching out to touch him, comfort him, and almost as if by habit, he felt himself smile a little. _I am too_.

_That’s the first time you’ve ever admitted to being freaked out by anything_.

_I’ve never seen anything like this._

Shouyou’s smile faded. The reality of where he was set in, and he pressed his head back into the stone wall, feeling it hurt. His muscles still ached; none of the pain was going away. None of it.

Kageyama wasn’t here. Would he come? Of course he would, but maybe that was worse. Oikawa said he wouldn’t do anything to Shouyou so long as Kageyama did what he wanted, but he had no idea what Oikawa had in mind. It could be worse than whatever torture for Shouyou he had planned. Shouyou didn’t want Kageyama to hurt anymore.

_Do you think we’ll be okay?_

Silence. Outside the window, Shouyou heard waves crashing against rocks violently. He wondered if it was storming.

_I don’t know_.

 

\--

 

At some point, Shouyou managed to lull himself into a dreamless sleep. When he woke up, his back hurt from lying on the hard ground for so long, and the door was open. A man he didn’t recognize stood in the doorway, holding a tray with both hands.

“You’re awake,” the man said. Shouyou scrambled to sit up, pressing against the wall the way he had with Oikawa. The man frowned, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows, but he didn’t comment on it. He shut the door behind him with his foot.

“There’s a bed for a reason, you know.” He nodded towards where Shouyou sat on the ground and then to untouched bed. Shouyou watched him warily, but all he did was set the tray he was holding on the ground a few feet away from Shouyou. It was dark in the room, but the contents of the tray were clear—food.

“I like the floor better,” Shouyou said. His voice was hoarse when he spoke, the way it had been when he woke up the first time. The man raised an eyebrow, but he only looked amused. He stood back up, and the necklace of animal bones he wore clattered against his chest as he moved. Moonlight filtered in from between the barred window, illuminating the bones. They shone ivory.

“There’s no point in hurting your back over nothing. If I were you, I’d take advantage of the few things you have right now.”

Shouyou looked down.

The man sighed. “Eat. I promise you the food isn’t poisoned.”

In truth, the thought hadn’t even crossed Shouyou’s mind, but now that it had, he couldn’t fathom eating. _You need to eat_ , Kenma chastised in his head. It was the first time he’d spoken since Shouyou woke up.

“And why would I believe you?” Shouyou stretched his foot out and kicked the tray away gently. “You’re one of them.”

He noticed distantly that this man was strong, his silhouette stocky. He wondered who would be in charge of torturing Shouyou, if or when it came to that. Would it be this man? Was that the point in having him deliver Shouyou’s meals? To build up a sense of trust until the time came to take action?

The man stayed quiet for what felt like forever. Finally, he sat down on the ground across from Shouyou, took a spoon from the tray, and began eating.

Shouyou watched him silently. He only took a few bites, but he took at least one from every item. He never so much as flinched as he chewed. When he was done testing it, he took a gulp of water from the cup that had been provided and nudged the tray back towards Shouyou.

“There,” he said gruffly. “Not poisoned. Now eat. I’m sure you’re starving.”

After that, Shouyou found no reason not to dig in. He didn’t even notice that the man was still sitting there, watching him basically inhale his meal. Within minutes, he was done, and he pushed the empty tray back towards the stranger. He downed all the water and couldn’t help wishing for more.

_His name is Iwaizumi_ , Kenma said. _He told me while we were being moved here. I don’t think…I don’t think he wants to be hurting you. Or me._

Iwaizumi took the empty tray and rose to his feet, starting towards the door without another word. Shouyou itched to say something, to keep him here if only because he couldn’t stand being alone, if only because Kenma said it was possible he didn’t want to be doing this.

“Your name—“ Shouyou started. Iwaizumi stilled, halfway to the door, and raised an eyebrow at Shouyou. Still, he didn’t say anything, and Shouyou continued, “It’s…it’s Iwaizumi, right? You told Kenma that. Why are you helping him—Oikawa, I mean?”

Iwaizumi met his eye. “No reason you need to worry over.”

“’No reason’ I—? Of course I need to worry over it! I don’t understand why you’re helping him hurt people! Why are you even being nice to us if you’re just going to hurt us in the end anyway?! That just—that’s worse!”

Again, he said nothing. Shouyou felt fire spreading up his arms, the familiar want to shift. He started to, felt himself start to—and it was stopped. Nothing happened, he wouldn’t shift, but the anger kept spreading. “You’re worse than Oikawa!”

Iwaizumi turned and left, locking the door behind him the way Oikawa had. Shouyou’s accusation echoed around the room long after Iwaizumi was gone, and in his solitude, it only sounded pathetic.

 

\--

 

It wasn’t until Kenma pointed it out that Shouyou realized he hadn’t been able to shift.

He tried. He passed the time trying, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t shift—not into an animal, not into anybody else. He really was back in November, completely at a loss.

“Maybe it’s because of the thing Oikawa said he gave you,” Shouyou said out loud. He’d decided he liked talking to Kenma better than thinking to him. It gave him the illusion of physical company. Plus, it helped when the silence began getting to him. “Do you think that whatever made you be inside my head also stopped me from shifting?”

_It’s possible_ , Kenma said.

“Yeah, you’re right, I wouldn’t put anything past them at this point. I don’t even get how they knew you were with me—or how they managed to do this to you. Shifting, I can sort of get, but this?” He sighed. “My head hurts.”

_Sorry_.

“It’s okay. Not your fault. But I’m gonna go crazy if I have to stay in here alone for much longer. How long until Iwaizumi comes back, do you think?”

_I don’t know. Probably a while_.

Shouyou groaned. “Of course.”

Kenma was silent. Then: _You’re taking this pretty well._

“I’m still really scared.”

_I know you are. But you’re calm, at least for now. That’s good._

“That’s one good thing, then. Nothing else is ‘good’ about this.”

Kenma didn’t respond to that.

“How did you know I couldn’t shift?” Shouyou asked suddenly. He put his feet up against the wall, laying on his back to stare at the ceiling. A chandelier hung above them ominously. The image of it falling on him passed through his mind, but he shoved it away. “You said earlier that I tried but couldn’t, which is like, that’s true, but…how’d you know?”

_I think I can feel everything you can_.

“What? Really?”

_More or less_. A beat. _I think that’s why we can hear each other’s thoughts._

Shouyou really hoped this was reversible. He wanted Kenma’s physical form back—what was left of it—and he wanted to shift again and he wanted his head to stop hurting. The chain around his ankle clanked when he moved his feet from off the wall. What if they were stuck like this forever? It’d only been a few hours and already Shouyou thought he would die of loneliness. What if he could never shift again?

_We won’t get stuck like this_ , Kenma said. _We’ll find a way to cure it._

Shouyou closed his eyes. The image of the chandelier falling followed him even when he couldn’t see it. “I hope so.”

 

\--

 

Shouyou fell in and out of dreamless sleeps. Dreamless—except for one.

He was in what might have been an apartment. It was dark, all the lights turned off and the blinds drawn shut, and he was lying on a couch with his legs curled up to his chest. The front door jingled as if being unlocked, and Kuroo stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

He leaned his back against the door, not having noticed Shouyou, and let out a long breath. Kuroo looked younger here, his face a little rounder, his hair a little shorter. He opened his eyes after a moment and jumped when he saw Shouyou.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” he said. “You scared me. I didn’t know you were home yet.”

Shouyou didn’t say anything in response, but Kuroo looked at him as if he had, nodding in the silence. It was a weird thing to watch.

“You okay?” Kuroo threw his keys on the coffee table in front of Shouyou and sat down next to him on the couch. The cushion dipped underneath him. In the way that only dreams made sense, Shouyou knew he’d responded. Kuroo nudged Shouyou’s foot with his own gently, but the movement felt stilted, a little bit slower than before.

“I’m fine,” he said. It sounded like he was underwater, but nothing else changed. Shouyou tried to stand up, tried to ask what was wrong all of the sudden, but he couldn’t get his body to move and he couldn’t speak.

Kuroo went on to say something about Akaashi, but the words trailed and dipped lower until they were completely submerged and incomprehensible. He still sat with his lips moving like nothing was wrong, smiling at Shouyou like this was normal. Distantly, Shouyou heard someone calling his name.

_Where am I_?

That was definitely Kenma. All at once, Shouyou remembered—remembered the medicine and the mind-melding, where he was and where Kenma wasn’t.

_Where am I?_ Kenma asked again. He sounded panicked for the first time since they’d been stuck this way. He asked again, _Where am I?!_

Shouyou opened his mouth to let Kenma know where he was, but the apartment dissolved and he was left only with a feeling like he was meant to reach for Kenma. He tried and tried, and just as it felt like he was getting there, he was awake.

He sat up, panting. His eyes darted around the room in search of Kenma, and when he saw no one, he began to panic until he remembered. He wouldn’t find Kenma here. Shouyou laid back down on the ground, his shirt soaked through with sweat, and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. It was cold in the room, and for the first time since he’d arrived, he was thankful for it.

_Ken_ , he thought. He didn’t trust himself to speak out loud yet. _Are you there?_

_I’m here,_ Kenma responded, sounding just as frantic as he had in the dream. Without a body, he couldn’t have his heart rate go up, but Shouyou got the feeling that it would have, had he been able to. Hesitantly, he said, _Shouyou_?

_Yeah, it’s just me._ Shouyou finally gained control over his breathing, willing himself to calm down. Without his adrenaline rush, his body began cooling down, and he was back to wishing that his window could close.

_What_ was _that_? Shouyou thought. _You…you were there too, right? Were you seeing what I was? Did we share a dream or was it something else?_

_I don’t know_. Kenma paused. _I…I was…watching you, but it wasn’t really you. And I didn’t know where I was._

_Everything felt off,_ Shouyou said.

_Yeah. Very off._

Neither of them spoke. Shouyou would’ve preferred to forget the dream and go back to sleep. The sun was beginning to rise over the ocean, and he had a feeling Iwaizumi or Oikawa would be back soon. What they would do when they arrived, Shouyou didn’t want to know. How long had it been since he’d gotten here? How long did Oikawa say Kageyama have left?

And for that matter, where _was_ Kageyama? And the rest of Karasuno? Were they coming? What would Oikawa do if more than just Kageyama showed up? Shouyou didn’t think he could handle any one else getting hurt at this point. He hoped, helplessly, that they wouldn’t come.

_What’s happening to us_ , Shouyou thought. It wasn’t a question so much as a statement. For the first time since he’d gotten here, he felt his eyes beginning to sting.

Kenma didn’t respond, but Shouyou thought he felt him reach out mentally to comfort.

The door creaked open. Shouyou didn’t move from his position on the floor, only watching as Iwaizumi entered. He wasn’t carrying anything this time, his arms laying awkwardly at his sides like he wasn’t quite comfortable being here. Shouyou could relate.

“Oikawa wants to see you this morning,” Iwaizumi said. He spoke as if reading from a script, and when Shouyou looked at him, he could find no acknowledgement of their last encounter. Shouyou couldn’t bring himself to regret what he said, but he was only frustrated more by the complete lack of response Iwaizumi gave him.

“Why?”

“For breakfast.”

Shouyou blinked. “He wants to see me…for breakfast?” he repeated.

Iwaizumi nodded, but it looked like he was trying not to smile. He sounded distantly amused when he said, “He wants to see you for breakfast, yes. I’m here to take you.”

“So, what, I have an escort now?” Shouyou mumbled. Iwaizumi gestured for him to stand, and he did so, shaking on his feet. He hadn’t stood up in what felt like forever, and his muscles ached from lack of use. Iwaizumi unlocked the chain around his ankle, but not before putting a new one on his wrist.

If Shouyou were like Daichi or Kuroo, he’d have a plan of action already. Maybe this would’ve been his chance to escape—overpower Iwaizumi, take the keys, run like hell. But Shouyou wasn’t much of a fighter, and the thought that maybe, if he really, really tried he could’ve fought back didn’t even cross his mind until Iwaizumi was already locking the chain around his wrist into place.

“You’re thinking about escaping,” Iwaizumi said rather than asked. He stopped and met Shouyou’s eye. There was no malice or hostility there, only an odd sort of understanding that made Shouyou even angrier that he’d ignored him those hours ago. “If you’re smart, you won’t try it. Oikawa isn’t needlessly cruel—mostly because it’s too much effort to be cruel for no reason. That being said…once he _has_ a reason, he doesn’t hold back. If I were you, I’d try my best not to give him one. As long as you do that, you’ll be safe.”

“What reason did I give him for kidnapping me?”

Iwaizumi paused. “That one was just bad luck.”

He led Shouyou out of the room, and to Shouyou’s surprise, he didn’t both holding his arms or pulling out a weapon. He only walked a few feet behind, his hands shoved in his pockets, his demeanor much too relaxed for the situation. _He trusts that I won’t try to escape_.

_Maybe that’s for the best_ , Kenma said. _Would you rather he hurt you?_

_Of course not._

_Then not looking like a threat is a good thing_.

Shouyou responded _I guess_ but it didn’t feel right.

The hallways had high ceilings and seemed to go on forever. Door after door lined the walls, some embellished as if as a sign of wealth, others torn up to the point of seeing into the room behind it. Shouyou slowed his pace to take it in, peering into a hole through one particularly broken door. The room was empty, steel gray and stained in brown. He didn’t want to know what it was used for.

Iwaizumi didn’t chastise him for slowing down or taking note of his surroundings. Shouyou had been sure he would’ve been blindfolded or at least kept from getting a good look at the rest of the mansion—after all, that was what they’d done to Kuroo, hadn’t they? Kuroo said he wasn’t allowed to leave the room they’d kept him in, and that he only saw Oikawa. Why was Shouyou being treated differently?

“Are you surprised?” Iwaizumi asked quietly. Shouyou glanced over his shoulder and then averted his eyes. That same anger from earlier came back every time he looked at Iwaizumi for too long.

“Surprised by what?”

“Everything.”

Shouyou frowned. “I wasn’t expecting to get kidnapped, if that’s what you mean. Or for you guys to keep me chained up all night and then invite me to breakfast. What, are we eating in the dining room, too?”

Iwaizumi stayed silent. Shouyou said, “I take that as a yeah.”

Neither of them continued the conversation after that. Iwaizumi led him down three flights of stairs and through more hallways with just as high ceilings and doors. Shouyou saw no one else walking around; the echo of their footsteps on the marble stairway and polished flooring sounded lonely.

The dining room was twice as large as the room Shouyou was kept in and almost as empty. There was nothing but a table in the middle of the room and a spindly chandelier hanging over them. At the head of the table, Oikawa sat with an empty plate in front of him. He smiled when he saw Shouyou and Iwaizumi at the doorway and ushered them over with a wave.

“I hope Iwaizumi wasn’t too hard on you,” he said when Shouyou was close enough. Shouyou blinked between the two of them. Iwaizumi didn’t respond to the comment; he only pulled out the chair to the right of Oikawa and nodded at Shouyou.

Gingerly, Shouyou sat down. Iwaizumi un-cuffed him before he sat across from Shouyou, to the left of Oikawa. Piles of breakfast food sat in front of them—French toast, mountains of eggs, bacon and small sandwiches and what might have been crepes. Oikawa didn’t touch any of it, his plate kept empty. Instead, he held a coffee mug delicately with both hands, and when he pulled away from a sip, his mouth was stained red.

Shouyou had never been bothered by vampires feeding in front of him before—in fact, he’d liked it at first, fascinated by it. But something about the way Oikawa held the mug, something about how his throat moved, how he pulled away and smiled with teeth—it suddenly made Shouyou sick to his stomach. He looked away.

“Don’t talk all at once,” Oikawa said. Iwaizumi grunted in response as if to prove his point. Shouyou kept his hands in his lap, noticing the plate in front of him for the first time. Oikawa nodded towards the food.

“Go on, it’s for you. Obviously, I’ll be fine without it, and Iwaizumi isn’t big on breakfast foods. You can have as much as you like.”

Shouyou spoke with Kenma briefly— _do you think it’s poisoned? It wasn’t last night, and they’re being super friendly to me, why would they do that if they were just gonna poison me? Be careful_ —before reaching forward and snagging a sandwich off one of the piles. He snatched his hand back, sandwich with it, but didn’t begin eating just yet.

“So, Sho-chan,” Oikawa started, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his palms. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Shouyou didn’t speak; he shook his head, still holding the sandwich.

“He refused to use the bed,” Iwaizumi supplied.

Oikawa frowned, and for a terrifying moment, Shouyou thought he was going to get angry at him for that, for not taking advantage of what was provided—but he only leaned in further on his palms and said, “Well, that’s a shame. I made sure to give you the comfortable one, too.”

Shouyou couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He didn’t say anything, and from across the table, Iwaizumi caught his eye. He looked down hurriedly.

“I guess that’s not important now.” Oikawa waved it off. “But there’s a reason I wanted to have breakfast with you this morning. Aren’t you going to eat, by the way? None of it’s poisoned. I can eat some too if that’d make you feel better.”

Again, Shouyou didn’t speak, but Oikawa took that as an affirmative and placed a piece of French toast on his plate. He took a bite, drank from his mug, and said, “There. Feel any better?”

He didn’t, but Shouyou started to eat anyway—and like last night, once he started, he couldn’t stop. He didn’t understand why he was so hungry. They hadn’t starved him, and only last night he’d had dinner with Karasuno, gathered in the dining room with Kageyama’s shin pressed against his. But for some reason it felt like weeks ago, and Shouyou’s body responded to the first bite as if he hadn’t eaten in longer.

Oikawa didn’t ask him anything as he ate. From the corner of his eye, Shouyou could see that both him and Iwaizumi were watching him eat—probably amused at how urgent he acted—but he didn’t care. Only when he was done did he look up and meet Oikawa’s eye.

“You should be feeling better now,” Oikawa said. “I’m surprised you’re that hungry, honestly. But I guess that was one of the side effects.”

_The medicine_. In his head, Shouyou could feel Kenma’s unease. They were getting to the real reason Shouyou was called here.

“Side effects,” Shouyou repeated. “Of the stuff you gave me? The thing that’s made me—like this?” He didn’t elaborate on what _this_ meant. He knew Oikawa would know.

Oikawa nodded, leaning back in his chair. “It seems harsh from your point of view, but like I told you before—you get that we couldn’t just have Kenma wandering around everywhere and helping you escape, could we? And since we can’t _physically_ chain him up,” he smiled, “we chained him to you.”

Shouyou’s stomach lurched. He put his fork down suddenly, and it clattered against the plate. In his head, Kenma’s unease grew to fear, mingling with his own. _That’s why we’re like this?_ Kenma thought, at the same time that Shouyou said it out loud.

“Don’t get too worked up about it.” Oikawa waved a hand dismissively. “As of right now, it’s not permanent. Once Kageyama gets here, you’ll be back to your normal, shapeshifting self. Oh, and you’ve noticed that you can’t shift, right? That one wasn’t a side-effect. If you went around the place shifting, it’d be pretty hard to keep you as contained as you are now. So you understand why I’m doing what I’m doing. It only makes sense. It’s nothing against you.”

_Why does he care?_ Kenma thought, and it was loud in Shouyou’s head.

_I don’t understand._

_What does he mean “as of right now”?_

_Is there a time limit?_

_What if we go over?_

_Where’s Kageyama?!_

Iwaizumi’s chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back, and the noise made Shouyou flinch back to himself. Kenma was still there, buzzing in his ear, his fear combining with Shouyou’s own to the point where he couldn’t tell whose was whose.

Iwaizumi mumbled something in Oikawa’s ear, quiet enough that Shouyou couldn’t catch it, and the emotionless expression Oikawa wore didn’t help to determine what it was. Iwaizumi pulled back, straightened up, and Oikawa nodded at him subtly. He left the room, leaving Shouyou alone with Kageyama’s brother.

“You know there’s a reason I wanted to talk to you,” Oikawa began. He didn’t bother trying to look polite or friendly; he only set his face hard as stone, tone impassive, hands laced together on the table. This was the leader of Aoba Johsai.

Shouyou heard himself say, “What is it?” but didn’t remember telling his mouth to move.

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you if Kageyama got here on time and agreed to my terms, and I wasn’t lying. I really won’t hurt you if that happens. But granted that that _isn’t_ the case, well…” He trailed off. Out of nowhere, he asked, voice light, “You and Kageyama are special to each other, aren’t you?”

“Special?” Again, he heard the sound and couldn’t remember it coming from him. Yeah, that was right. He and Kageyama were—special to each other. That was why he was kidnapped, wasn’t it? Because he was a good option for a hostage. Because somehow Oikawa knew what had only recently developed. Or maybe he was just good at guessing. He said, not from him, “Why would you ask if you already know?”

“I just want to make sure I have my facts correct,” Oikawa shrugged like it didn’t matter. “My resources are pretty reliable, but you can never be too careful.”

Any sense of teasing or nonchalance disappeared. Again, that stone cold expression was back. “You know, then, what I am to Kageyama?”

“You’re his brother.” Shouyou paused. Kenma, in his head, paused too. “You killed your parents and drove Kageyama away.”

“Is that what he told you?”

Shouyou stiffened.

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” the vampire mused. His eyes trailed away from Shouyou and landed on his half-empty mug. He didn’t go to drink from it. When he looked back at Shouyou, he said, “Does he have scars?”

“…Scars?”

Oikawa gestured to his nose. “On his face.”

“I thought you would…” Shouyou blinked. He thought about Kageyama in the locker room with his hands shaking, and all the times he’d thought his scars looked like lightning in the dark. “Yeah. He does.”

“That makes sense,” Oikawa mumbled, and he leaned back in his chair again, picking up the mug and saying into it, “Of course he does. That makes sense.”

It wasn’t the first time Shouyou had remembered who he was really talking to, who he was really with—but it was the first time he’d been reminded so blatantly that the Kageyama Oikawa knew was not the Kageyama Shouyou knew, and that either way, they were brothers. Adopted, but brothers. Kageyama had looked so sad talking about it, so affected. The memory of his voice reverberated in Shouyou’s head, repeating _he loved me a lot, he loved me a lot, he loved me a lot_.

“You’ve not seen him since he left,” Shouyou said. He meant to ask it as a question, but the question mark got lost somewhere coming out of his mouth. “Since…since he joined Karasuno.”

“Of course I haven’t. I’m not that stupid,” Oikawa laughed. “I wouldn’t even be getting this involved again if it weren’t for…”

_If it weren’t for what?_

“Never mind that.” He set the mug back on the table. He hadn’t drunken out of it. “Can Kenma hear me? I want to speak with me for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

“He can hear you.”

_I can hear you_.

“Oh, good, I thought so. Kenma, Kuroo’s special to you, isn’t he? In the same way that Sho-chan is special to Kageyama? Are you scared for him? Kuroo, I mean.”

“Why would…?” Shouyou started to ask, but he felt Kenma’s fear escalating, felt his own following suit. Something sharp and cold sped through him.

Oikawa must have seen an answer in Shouyou’s reaction. His face didn’t change, but something pleased danced just underneath it.

“Just checking. Kuroo had never been quiet about his feelings for you, back when you were still with him. Even before I met him this past month, I could tell he had someone he was in love with. People are weird that way.”

_Don’t touch him don’t touch him don’t touch him don’t_ —

“My point in bringing this all up is, of course, to remind you that I have quite a lot of leverage here. You’re both still at my mercy, and in Kenma’s case, while I can’t hurt him _physically_ …well, I’ve been in this game for a long time. I know more than one way to get to someone. Do you think Kuroo would come running if he found out I was hurting you?”

The fear spiked, then turned to anger. Shouyou found himself yelling, “Stop it!”

Oikawa blinked. “Oh, that’s new. Do you care about Kuroo that way too, Sho-chan?”

“What?” Shouyou frowned. “No, what does that have to do with—“

Kenma’s thoughts got too loud. The sentence was never finished, and Shouyou hunched over his dirty plate, pressing his palms to his ears like that would make the noise stop. Were those even Kenma’s thoughts? Were they his own?

No, of course Shouyou didn’t like Kuroo like that. But his reaction was the same as Kenma’s, and he felt the warmth of memories that weren’t his: Kuroo’s hand on the small of his back to guide him; Kuroo laughing—loud and real for once; Kuroo waking up in the morning slowly, hair even messier than normal; Kuroo staying up too late and falling asleep in the living room; Kuroo speaking quietly about things shared; Kuroo crying; Kuroo talking to someone he wasn’t even sure was there. There was warmth underneath it all, and a wanting that Shouyou had never experienced except with Kageyama.

“There were other side effects,” Oikawa was saying, “to the medicine. I can’t remember all of them at the moment, but if something feels off, just assume that it has to do with that. Are you hurting, Shouyou, Kenma? Are you scared?”

“ _Shut up_.” That one definitely didn’t sound like him. “ _Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up_ …”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Oikawa was saying—or at least Shouyou thought that was him speaking. Everything sounded underwater, jumbled, messed up, bloated. There was too much fear and too much anger, too much of a Kenma that might have been Shouyou—or a Shouyou that might have been Kenma—and through the mess, he thought he heard Oikawa say, “Shou—ma? Ken—?”

 

\--

 

Kuroo insisted on coming along.

Tobio had said that he didn’t want anyone more than the bare minimum coming, and he had meant it. By “bare minimum,” he’d had in mind maybe Daichi, Suga, Asahi if he could, maybe Shimizu or Yamaguchi to get them places, and no one more than that. He would’ve preferred going completely alone, had that been possible.

But Kenma had been taken too. “It’s not just Hinata anymore,” Kuroo said, jaw locked and expression unwavering. He was serious about going with them. “After all that happens, don’t you think I deserve to come too?”

Daichi hadn’t want him to, for obvious reasons, and Tobio had agreed. But Kuroo was more stubborn than his laid-back attitude suggested, and Suga had been moved by his reasoning and convinced the rest that it was alright.

Which led them to now: the five of them crammed into one car, Shimizu driving with Suga in the passenger seat, Daichi, Kuroo, and Tobio in the back discussing plans. A map was spread out between them, Tobio in the middle; they’d bought it at a gas station a few miles back, because none of them had a phone with GPS and so it was the best they could do.

“You’re sure we know where we’re going?” Kuroo asked, raising an eyebrow at their surroundings. The scenery had changed over the past few hours, and now they drove between snow-covered mountains.

Tobio nodded. “We’re fine. Uh, Shimizu-san,” he leaned towards the front seats, “we need to get off at the next exit.”

“If the place is supposed to be super heavily guarded and impossible to find, how’re we going to know when we get there, exactly?”

“Kageyama’ll know,” Daichi said, but he sounded unsure. It had been nine years, but Tobio knew he wouldn’t be able to miss it. Aoba Johsai was difficult to find if you didn’t know where to look. He’d tried to forget, and he couldn’t. He didn’t think he ever could.

The thing about Aoba Johsai’s hide out was that it wasn’t even really a “hide” out. They weren’t hidden. The mansion overlooked a cliff out onto the sea, only a few miles from a small town. Anyone driving past could potentially see it, but all the protective spells and charms cast on the building over the past few centuries made it easy to miss unless you were _trying_ to find it. It was useful if you wanted to stay under the radar, but practically useless once someone knew where it was.

The only real issue was finding out how to get from Karasuno to there, but once they were within the town, they’d be fine. Tobio just worried about the time in between. How many hours would it take them? How many hours was Oikawa going to _give_ them?

What if they hurt Hinata before they even got there? What if—

“We need a plan for when we actually arrive,” Suga said from the passenger seat. He was turned around half-way to see them.

“Kill the bastard,” Kuroo answered without pause.

Daichi sighed heavily. “A _real_ plan, Kuroo.”

“I am dead serious. I have absolutely no qualms with not holding back after the shit he’s been pulling. Are you saying you’re just going to let him get away with terrorizing Karasuno?”

“What else are we supposed to _do_?!” Daichi leaned past Tobio to get to Kuroo. “We’re not exactly on par right now with the _mafia_ , Kuroo! Karasuno isn’t made for fighting! We’re a _safe haven_ , not a—“

“He gets the point, Daichi,” Suga interjected firmly. Daichi fell quiet, leaning back away from Kuroo. Tobio saw Shimizu glancing back at them through the rear view mirror.

“What do you suggest we do, then, Sawamura-kun?” Shimizu said quietly. She changed lanes swiftly, and Tobio leaned up to give her the next set of directions.

“I don’t know,” Daichi admitted softly. “I don’t know.”

Suga turned back around in his seat so he was looking at the road. “You’re right that we aren’t meant for fighting. We’ve all…we’ve all got _experience_ , I guess you would say, with it, but we’re nothing in comparison to Oikawa. And he won’t be alone. Kageyama-kun, do you know who lives at Aoba Johsai’s mansion?”

“Oikawa,” Tobio said. “Our parents, when…uh, I guess him and…well, there’s one other person I know that would maybe live there still. He was our bodyguard, sort of.”

“Two people,” Kuroo mumbled. “Doesn’t sound that bad.”

“That’s only a guess,” Daichi countered tiredly. “We don’t know the real numbers. Corvus kept at _least_ a handful of members at their base at all times, so who’s to say Seijou is all that different?”

“We had housekeepers around too. Maids and cooks and babysitters and stuff. It was…more of a house than it was a base for work. But it might be different now that it’s just him.” Tobio remembered that Oikawa never seemed to like having all those people around; at any given moment, he never wanted anyone more than maybe his mother and Iwaizumi and sometimes—especially before their relationship began to fall apart—Tobio around him. But never any more than that.

“So we’re either up against two people,” Suga summarized, “or a whole house full.”

Tobio looked down. “Pretty much.”

“So we have no idea how many people there _actually_ are,” Kuroo said.

“…Pretty much.”

“Fantastic.” The witch ran a hand through his hair anxiously. The movement made the map shift between their laps. “So are you all suggesting we don’t fight? Just give up Kageyama willingly and let them hurt Kenma and Hinata because there _might_ be more people than we can handle?”

“Oikawa would never go into this alone. He’s not stupid; he’d have insurance, some leverage over us,” Shimizu rationalized. “We could try to fight him, but with Hinata and Kenma at his mercy, it seems too risky.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. That had been the issue, and the reason Tobio had planned on giving himself up: it was too risky. It was better to do what Oikawa said and keep everyone alive and safe than it was to try to fight and end up with more deaths on all of their hands.

“What happens if he attacks us first?” Kuroo asked. “We just lay down and take it?”

“If it comes to it,” Daichi kept his eyes trained on the window, “then yes.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Kuroo—“

“If he took Sugawara, you’re telling me you wouldn’t try to fight back? You’d just submit like that?”

“If it was a choice between him _dying_ and me submitting, _then yes_!”

“Kenma is _already dead!_ ”

Daichi turned so he was facing Kuroo now, and something flickered behind the poker face he wore. Tobio stayed silent, sitting as still as he could as he watched the two of them, and in the front, Shimizu and Suga were doing the same. Shimizu’s hands were tight around the wheel, and Suga sat straight, his whole body tense. Maybe with guilt.

“He’s already dead,” Kuroo repeated. He was quieter this time; the anger coating his voice from earlier had dried up, and now left him only like this. Quiet. “Can’t I be angry that he’s doing this—to all of you? He’s _dead_. What do I have left to lose, Daichi?”

There was silence for a long moment. Tobio thought he wouldn’t respond, but Daichi finally shook his head, slowly, solemnly.

“There’s always something left to lose, Kuroo.”

 

\--

 

_Where am I? Where am I? Where am I?_

_Don’t hurt him don’t hurt him don’t hurt him—_

_Kageya—Kur—Kag—o—_

Iwaizumi’s voice cut through the fog.

“Oikawa,” he barked. Shouyou remembered the bones around his neck, but he couldn’t tell where Iwaizumi’s voice was coming from, still underwater. Oikawa might have responded, or maybe he didn’t. Shouyou didn’t know.

“Are you scared now?”

That sentence made its way to Shouyou clearly. Someone was walking across the room. Someone was coming towards him.

A dark face broke through the water. Iwaizumi was gripping Shouyou’s unbound wrists, tight enough that it made him remember the chains from earlier and almost wish for them back. He didn’t look hostile or angry or even scared. He only kept his hands wrapped tight around Shouyou’s wrists.

“What’s your name?” he asked. His voice sounded blurry, but it was clear enough to be understood. He repeated, “What’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re Hinata Shouyou. Your name is Hinata Shouyou.”

Was it? Shouyou shook his head. “No, no, that’s not—“

“It’s right,” Iwaizumi insisted. He refused to break eye contact, and there was that pulsing magic from earlier. “That’s right. That’s your name. Whatever you’re telling yourself, it’s wrong. That’s your name. Trust me.”

Trust him. Trust Iwaizumi. How was he supposed to? Iwaizumi hurt him. Iwaizumi—wasn’t he—but he was so nice to Shouyou—he said he hoped they made it out okay—but he was going to hurt him. That was right: Oikawa said it, they were going to hurt him later. Iwaizumi would do it, of course he would do it. “I don’t want to trust you. I _don’t_ trust you, I—“

“You have to trust me right now.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

“ _Shut up_ —” whose voice was that? “— _shut up_ …”

His face swam out of Shouyou’s vision. The grip on his wrists loosened, and he jerked away, trying to get free, and then the grip was back. A chair screeched against the floor as it was being pushed back, and then clattered when it hit the ground.

_Where am I?_

“Take care of him,” someone was saying—who was saying that?—“I’ll…be back soon. Just take care of him. I’ve never seen this before.”

“What do you mean you’ve never seen this before?”

“I mean he’s not himself.”

The noise in his head calmed, and there was silence for a blissful moment. The chair was being picked up. A door was closing. Oikawa came into view and Shouyou’s attention snapped back. The noise, although dulled, started up again.

“There’s been a change of plans, unfortunately, so we’ll have to continue our conversation elsewhere,” the vampire said. He didn’t look anxious or upset or even annoyed that the “plans” had changed. He only started towards a door—had that been there before? Shouyou couldn’t remember—and Shouyou followed obediently.

Up a flight of stairs. Whose legs were these? Shouyou watched them moving like clockwork, one after the other, climbing higher and higher, turning a corner, feet against hard wood and carpet, right at Oikawa’s heels. They hadn’t taken his shoes when he’d been locked up.

Then they were in another room, one of what seemed to be millions. Oikawa shut the door. _Where am I? Where—are—I? Where am—?_

_Where are we?_

“I don’t know.”

“Did you say something, Sho-chan?”

Shouyou blinked. “Did I?”

Oikawa held his eye for a minute, and there was no amusement or lightness or cockiness or hostility behind the impassive expression he wore. There was only what might have been surprise, maybe even shock. What had they said earlier, about never seeing something like this before? Iwaizumi had said that, hadn’t he? He’d been trying to help. Yeah, that was right, he’d been trying to help bring Shouyou back to himself. And now there was Oikawa. What had he never seen before?

_Is it enough for him to pity us?_

“There was something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Oikawa said. He didn’t relax his posture or take a seat in one of the many velvet chairs offered in the room. “Outside of…about the medicine.” He seemed to frown after that, and Shouyou realized with clarity that it was surprise. He hadn’t expected for whatever had gone wrong _to_ go wrong. Shouyou—Kenma— _we’re paying for it_.

Shouyou didn’t respond. He waited, and before long, Oikawa was launching into an explanation, his face as emotionless as it had been.

“I’m not pointlessly cruel,” he said. “Understand that everything I do, everything I’ve done was for a purpose. Every life I took or destroyed or rearranged—all of it was for a reason, an end goal, a greater good. I can’t tell you I’m not a cruel man, but I can at least say I have never been without reason.”

“You hurt people.”

“Haven’t you?”

An image flashed through Shouyou’s head, not his own: a house burning up in flames, the bags under Kuroo’s eyes, the concealed shock from finding out Bokuto and Akaashi’s profession, the insistence on joining them. Then—then the woman Shouyou bit back in November in a fit of rage, Kageyama’s face when Shouyou begged him to stay, Iwaizumi’s back as he left Shouyou’s temporary prison. Had he hurt people? _Have we hurt people_?

_Hasn’t everybody_?

“You hurt people,” Shouyou said. Or maybe that was Kenma. “Even if you did it for a cause, you hurt people. Didn’t you hurt people to get where you are? Didn’t you hurt Kageyama? Was that not needlessly cruel?”

Oikawa’s jaw clenched. That, he could not hide.

“You don’t know anything about that. What has Kageyama told you? He didn’t understand. He still doesn’t understand, and neither do you. You don’t know. I did what I had to.”

Kenma said, “Did you?”

“ _Of course I did_! Everything I’ve done has been to—it was to protect—“

Oikawa stopped. He took a long, deep breath. Kenma followed suit. In for seven seconds, out for nine.

When he had composed himself again, Oikawa said, “This isn’t what I needed to talk to you about. My point was that there’s a reason for everything, and this is no exception. I’m not bringing Kageyama out of hiding without a reason. I would have liked it for everyone if he had stayed away, in all honesty, but it—can’t stay that way.”

“Why not?”

“Because it just _can’t_. You don’t understand yet. Hinata—Kenma—Aoba Johsai needs a leader. Kageyama, he _should_ have been the leader. I don’t know how much you know about what happened, or who I am, or who Kageyama is for that matter, but you know we’re brothers, don’t you? Did he tell you we’re adopted?”

“Yes. He told us that.”

“Did he tell you _why_ I was adopted? That his parents only let me live because they were afraid of never conceiving? They needed an heir, someone to take over Seijou after they died, and when you’re in this business you never know when that’ll be. Kageyama came along years after me. He was meant to be the heir; _he_ should’ve been the one living this life to begin with. If they hadn’t taken me in, this is where he would be now. Hurting others for a reason.”

“No,” Kenma said. “He didn’t tell us that part.”

Oikawa laughed without humor. “Of course he didn’t. I don’t think he knew. Tobio never knew the truth about anything, he was always so blissfully naïve. I told you that earlier, didn’t I? That you don’t understand anything about what’s going on, and neither does Tobio. Does that frighten you at all, Hinata?”

“I’m used to being left in the dark.”

“You are. Yeah,” Oikawa nodded in agreement, “yeah, I imagine you are. You didn’t even know you were a shapeshifter for a long time, didn’t you? And you didn’t know about Kuroo or Daichi’s past or Kenma’s death. And you don’t know about mine, either.”

There was a pause—a long one. Oikawa stood with his shoulders hunched, but after a moment, he let them drop. His eyes flickered to the door behind them, closed, but something was happening behind it. No sound came from there, but Kenma knew. Was Kuroo there? Kageyama? Were they safe? Were they alive?

Oikawa asked, “Would you like to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its the end of this fics life and our comments r slowin down :'^( we'd super appreciate it if any of u guys cld tell us what u like, dont like, any questions u have, anything! we love hearing from u! (and if u want to talk in depth w/ us, pls msg us on either of our tumblrs! we'd love to discuss this fic!!)


	18. you should take my soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s crueler than anything,” Shouyou said. “Making us understand you right before you take our family away. Making us get why you’re hurting Kageyama so badly right before you hurt him the worst. Making us pity you before you do something like this. Making _us_ pity you even when we’re the ones being held hostage. That’s…the cruelest thing you can do.”  
>  “You would’ve been better off wanting me dead,” Oikawa agreed. “But I’ve tried that already—with Tobio. I’ve found that it only makes everything worse in the long run.”
> 
> \--
> 
> This is a year for Realizing Things (Kylie Jenner, 2016, copyright) ALT: they discover,,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these past few weeks have been Hectic, and theyre only going to get worse the next 2 bc of midterms :^) fortunately, then we have winter break! so if nothing else, we'll have the second to last chap done then, then we have the epilogue, and ...........well, then its over :'D 
> 
> **chapter TWs** : pretty much the same as last chap, except theres more on-screen violence (strangling happens, but if u follow us on tumb u mightve already caught onto that lmao); also, tw for a character having a panic attack on screen!! if that bothers u, tread with caution
> 
> also, this is our first real time writing a fighting scene w/ more than 2 people in the vicinity, be gentle with us

One of the first thing Tobio noticed was just how weird it was to see Iwaizumi again.

It had been nine years, but he hadn’t changed much. Iwaizumi still wore the same stoic expression, still loomed a few inches over Tobio, still carried an air about him that meant he was dangerous in a docile way—docile in the sense that, while strong, Iwaizumi would never hurt someone unless it was necessary.

Maybe Tobio had known, growing up, that this would happen. Wasn’t it inevitable, that the oldest would overthrow his parents, overthrow his sibling? Get rid of competition for power? That was what Oikawa had wanted, after all—power. And maybe a little bit of revenge too, for all the years that Tobio was treated better because of his age. And maybe it was inevitable that he would come back someday, come back to this.

They didn’t try to fight. They hadn’t come here to fight; they’d settled on it in the car, after hours of debating and going through each and every possible option and outcome. The end result was that, if it came to violence, they weren’t going to roll over and lie down—although Daichi protested that one, purely for Hinata and Kenma’s sake—but until then, they were only going to give Oikawa what he wanted. Iwaizumi didn’t even look surprised that they only stood there, their hands in the air in submission.

“You’re early,” he said. Tobio was a little too busy with remembering how to breathe, with focusing on staying in the here and now, to fully follow what Iwaizumi was saying. His voice was the same. How many times had that voice chased Tobio away from this mansion in his dreams?

The others didn’t try to answer either, once it became clear that Tobio’s silence was definitive. Maybe they felt like they didn’t have the right to say anything, that it was only right if he was the one to speak. He wondered if they really understood what this was like for him, seeing Iwaizumi again.

The mansion looked almost the exact same. The only difference was that all the portraits of his father and mother had been taken down, gaping spaces on the walls riddling the house because of it. He wondered if Oikawa had them burned or if he’d only kept them hidden away somewhere. Tobio still remembered the days that his parents forced them to get their family portrait done, remembered the hours of sitting in front of an artist wearing a costume he’d never agreed to, forcing his mouth into something like a smile. Oikawa, forever photogenic, always sat next to him, looking deceptively at ease. Their parents stood over them with hands on their shoulders—their mother’s on Tobio’s, their father’s on Oikawa’s. They held a smile for what might have been hours.

Hours, burned or hidden away. Tobio wanted to see one again. If only as proof that there really _had_ been a time when he didn’t have these scars.

No one bustled around. No maids, no cooks, no caregivers or housekeepers or nannies or babysitters. No accountants, no makeshift secretaries, no bodyguards or security. There was no one but the six standing in the foyer: Shimizu, straight faced; Kuroo, arms tensed at his side; Daichi, avoiding Tobio’s eye; Suga, looking like he might throw up; Iwaizumi, the same as always, frozen in time; and Tobio, still taking it in.

“This isn’t a trick,” Daichi said suddenly. Tobio couldn’t quite tell if he was asking Iwaizumi or assuring him.

“No,” Iwaizumi agreed, “it isn’t. If you do as you all agreed to, you’ll get what you want.”

“Unscathed?”

“Alive.”

Tobio still hadn’t remembered how to breathe fully. In his place, Kuroo took a step forward harshly and demanded, “You’re hurting them, aren’t you?”

“No, we keep our promises. We won’t hurt them unless we need to. So far, you haven’t given us a reason to go that far. But you would do well to remember that.”

Kuroo’s eyes flashed with what might have been anger, but he managed a smirk and took half a step back, showing he wasn’t a threat. “Alright, you got me. I’ll play nice for now.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes turned from Kuroo to the rest of them, roaming around in a way that almost seemed lazy until they landed on Tobio. Tobio stared back, not able to force himself to look away, and they stayed looking like that for what felt like years. Did Tobio look older to him? Iwaizumi’s eyes lingered on the scars. _Oikawa did this_ , Tobio wanted to say to him. _You know that Oikawa did this. You know everything he’s done, every horrible thing._ How did Iwaizumi still manage to stay here? Still manage to love Oikawa? He’d never been like them—the Kageyamas or Oikawa. He’d never wanted to hurt others, never relished in other people’s pain, never agreed with a means to an end.

Tobio remembered once when he was still here, a night where his mother had kept someone to interrogate them. They’d been from some nameless rival Tobio never had the courage to ask about; they’d planned on ambush on one of their locations, but they’d miscalculated. Tobio didn’t know all of it, but he knew that only one vampire was left alive. His family took them in for information.

He had tried to ignore the screams that night. Their walls weren’t soundproof because his father never cared if anyone heard. Tobio and Tooru were used to blocking it out, ignoring all of the nameless crimes going on around them, because by then that was only their life, only another part of business. But Iwaizumi was not used to it.

He sat in Tooru and Tobio’s shared room, the door locked and closed. Even then, they could still hear the distant screaming, the begging to stop. Iwaizumi had gritted his teeth, his fists clenched, his eyes cast on the floor and refusing to meet anyone else’s.

Tobio, sitting at his bed, had pulled his covers back and asked, “What’s wrong, Iwaizumi-san?”

Tooru hadn’t said anything.

“Nothing,” Iwaizumi answered. But later that night, when they thought he was asleep, Tobio heard Iwaizumi and Tooru talking, voices low.

“You’re bothered by something,” Tooru said. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like hearing…” There was a pause. Some shuffling. Tobio forced himself to stay still. “I don’t like the torture. I don’t think it’s right. I know it’s valuable information but…it feels…it’s wrong. It just seems cruel, when there are easier ways to get it out of them.”

“You’re too soft sometimes, Iwa-chan,” Tooru laughed.

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

Another pause. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think I’m used to it.”

“Well, I’m not. And I don’t ever want to be. It’s horrible. Only the worst kind of person would do something like that when there are other options.”

Tobio wondered, now, if that had changed—if the nine years he was away had done something to take that away from Iwaizumi, alter even that fundamental part of him. Had he given up that ideal just for Oikawa? Just because he wanted to stay? Had he put up with something he hated so much for something he loved even more?

Sugawara was the first to break the silence. “We’re here, we have what you want. So what now?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered to Suga with the sound, breaking eye contact with Tobio. Tobio relaxed just a little, and he caught enough of himself to breathe again. It was difficult, labored breathing—but it was breathing.

“Now,” Iwaizumi said, “I take you to Oikawa.”

 

\--

 

They had left the mansion.

Where they were, Kenma—Shouyou—they didn’t know. Oikawa had taken them somewhere, leaving through a secret passage in the room. They hadn’t even thought to worry about secret passage ways when they first arrived, but he’d pulled a picture frame back and led them through.

Minutes earlier, Oikawa had said:

“I’m dying. And I don’t have a lot of time left. I’m not—“ He’d paused. It seemed difficult for him, and talking looked like a struggle. “I was cursed when I was born by someone who my parents wronged—my biological parents, I mean. I don’t know much about them except that they were affiliated with Aoba Johsai, betrayed the Kageyamas, and paid for it with their lives. I don’t know who their enemies were and why they had them. I just know that I was used as a means for revenge, and that a witch cursed me when I was born. Maybe even before that.

“I only have a few weeks left to live, Shouyou—Kenma. Don’t you get why I’m so set on getting Tobio back? Aoba Johsai _needs a leader._ I’m dying, I can’t be around, and there’s no one to take my place that I…” He stopped.

They wondered if he would continue like this, or if he’d just collapse in on himself. They’d seen their fair share of anguish and knew a face in despair when they saw one; would he hold up against it? Had a vampire ever felt so close to death?

“You need Kageyama to take over for you when you die,” they said. Their voice had stopped being two separate sounds and started being one.

“Yes.” Oikawa nodded, once, then another time as if to assure himself. “Yes, I need him here. I—don’t you get that it’s only fair? I was never supposed to have this life in the first place. _He_ should’ve been here; I should—if it weren’t for the Kageyamas, I would be living this out with my parents, or maybe I’d already be dead. I don’t know. There is no cure. Only my slow aging has saved me this long.”

“No cure?”

“I’ve been to doctors—as many as I could find, that I trusted at least—and every one of them has said the same thing. There is no cure. It’s terminal.”

Oikawa stopped again. They stood, looking at him, trying to find something in his expression. Finally, they said, “Iwaizumi doesn’t know about this.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Oikawa laughed. It came out sounding more like a sob. “I can’t do that to him. This is my burden. And how can he help, even if I told him? He would only try to convince me that I can be saved when I know damn well by now that I can’t.”

“You can’t do that to him,” they repeated.

“I can’t.”

“You care about him?”

There was silence for a moment. Oikawa looked down, hiding his expression from them as if that would change his answer. His shoulders drooped; he looked like a wilting flower.

“Yes,” he said. “I care about him.”

Shouyou—he wanted to get angry—how was that fair? That Oikawa got to care about people, got to love people, when he’d hurt so many? How could he say that he didn’t want to do that to Iwaizumi when he was doing worse to Kageyama? Had done worse to others? Would probably continue to do worse? How was that fair? How was any of it? He shouldn’t have been allowed to love, he shouldn’t—and realized belatedly they were crying.

Oikawa’s expression was just as vulnerable as it had been, but he blinked at them, like he had calculated and prepared for every response except this. “Why are you crying? Sho-chan?”

It wasn’t fair that he got to love people, no, but Shouyou couldn’t force himself to be mad; he only felt—pity. He pitied Oikawa, and he cried. Kenma cried with him, but maybe that was more for the part of himself he saw in Oikawa, in Iwaizumi. So much death.

“Why are you crying?” Oikawa asked again, sounding more panicked this time, confused. He hadn’t cried during his story, but the crack in his voice when he asked them a third time made it sound like he was going to.

“Because I want to help you,” they—Shouyou—said. “Dammit, after all of this, I still want—to help you…“

“You can’t help me, didn’t you hear what I was just saying? There’s no cure. There won’t ever be a cure. There is no way for you to help me. The best you can do is convince Kageyama to take my place and…don’t tell Iwaizumi. I’ve hidden it from him as best as I could for years now. Don’t tell him, please.”

“We won’t tell him,” Kenma assured. Was it better or worse, knowing you were going to die? Some part of Kenma wished he had known. But maybe that would’ve made it worse; maybe he would’ve been like Oikawa now, breaking down under the pressure, under the hourglass. Time was running out for him, and he was all too vividly aware of it. “I think we can still help you.”

“Convince Kageyama to come back for good. Don’t make him hate it here. I wouldn’t want him back here if I could choose it—he should stay as far away from Seijou if he has the choice—so please, just convince him it isn’t so bad. Don’t make him hate it here.”

“No,” Kenma said. “I think we might be able to cure you.”

Which led them to now, finding themselves outside the mansion. They could hear the ocean behind them, waves crashing against the rocks violently. It was still only morning, barely even ten o’clock by the looks of it, but the sky was dull, clouds heavy with impending rain. Oikawa didn’t speak as they moved.

Kageyama—he was here already. Oikawa had admitted that before they left; Iwaizumi was dealing with them in Oikawa’s place for the time being. He must have had a lot of faith in Iwaizumi’s strength to trust that he’d be able to handle Kageyama if he tried anything. Or maybe he just trusted that Kageyama wouldn’t try anything to begin with.

_He’s here—Kageyama’s here_ — _we need to get to him—but I want to help Oikawa. I know it’s wrong and it’s stupid, but if we can help him, I want to try. Can we help him? I don’t know. I don’t know that we can. But everything feels different. We’re different. Aren’t we different? Something happened._

Side-effects.

_Can’t you still use magic? No, I can’t. I lost it when I died, but it feels like this. Using magic feels like this._

_So we can do it?_

_I don’t know. Why could we when no one else can?_

_I want to try anyway_.

Where were they going? They didn’t know. They followed Oikawa blindly. There was no reason to trust him, no reason to believe at all that the story he was telling them was the truth. But something in what he said had struck them as sincere—maybe the first sincere thing he’d said to them since they got here.

How long had they been at this mansion, held hostage? Time was weird. It must have only been an hour since they were in the dining room eating. Maybe less. But time had not been weird before then. Now—Kenma—couldn’t quite grasp it. Moments melted into one another.

“I don’t know that you can do anything,” Oikawa said, breaking the silence. They were moving further into the dense woods behind Aoba Johsai, trees blocking the mansion from view, maneuvering through what looked like a makeshift trail.

“To cure you?”

He nodded, keeping his back to them. “I’ve had…people try. No witch has succeeded.”

“I am not a witch.”

“You’re right. You’re a shapeshifter.” The response was immediate, but after the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize what he’d said. He shook his head and continued walking as if he hadn’t faltered. “How silly of me.”

But, no, that wasn’t right. Were they a shapeshifter? Were they only a shapeshifter? This felt like magic, after all. Shouyou had never been able to use magic before, even when he was losing control. Maybe this was Kenma’s part, the witch and seer. Or maybe it was a combination of all three, resulting in a confidence that they could rid Oikawa of the curse that so many others had tried and failed to break. Was this what made them so special? They didn’t know.

Time was weird.

“Where are we going?”

“Away,” Oikawa said. “Tobio—he’s here with some other members of Karasuno. If…if you’re really going to try to cure me, we can’t risk them trying to stop it. Iwaizumi can keep them preoccupied until we get back. I have a safe house out here that we can…stay at, until whatever happens, happens.”

“A safe house,” they repeated. “You live in the mansion, don’t you? Isn’t that supposed to be a safe house?” Kenma had known the moment they entered that it was protected by years of magic, protective spells and invisible barriers and probably anything the Kageyamas had been able to get their hands on to keep the house secure.

Oikawa turned his head to look at them, and they saw him smiling sardonically. “Nothing about Aoba Johsai is safe,” he said.

They continued walking. Distantly, Shouyou had the sense that they weren’t supposed to trust Oikawa like this. Weren’t supposed to follow him _away_ from the people rescuing him, to some unknown location he wouldn’t even fully explain. Kenma agreed. It was a stupid idea. An impulsive one.

_But I guess you’ve always been impulsive_.

 

\--

 

Iwaizumi didn’t chain them or tie them up, but a man Tobio had never seen before put some kind of charm on them to keep them from moving their arms or legs, effectively tying them. He smiled, speaking quietly with Iwaizumi about something that Tobio couldn’t quite hear.

“I know him,” Shimizu said.

Suga sat up straighter; they were sitting on the floor, their backs to a decorated wall all in a line. “Who? The witch?”

She nodded. “His name is Matsukawa. We went to the same university before I dropped out and joined Karasuno.” She narrowed her eyes as if trying to figure something out, watching him from across the room. Matsukawa didn’t pay her any attention, still talking to Iwaizumi in hushed tones. “He was an average student. I wonder how he got involved with Aoba Johsai.”

“A wonder indeed,” Kuroo mumbled. “Anything else on him you remember? Something that could help us out maybe?”

“No. He was quiet in school, so I never really got to know him.”

“Even if she did know something, there wouldn’t be anything to ‘help’ with,” Daichi said. He looked tired, but he seemed to have accepted the situation. Tobio wondered how many times he’d been in similar ones. “We’re here for a reason. We aren’t going to fight back or try to escape.”

“Yet,” Suga added.

“Yet,” Daichi agreed.

Tobio thought they were in a living room. Aoba Johsai’s mansion was four times the size of Karasuno’s farm house, with three stories and rooms built specifically for his parents’ business. Some of the living rooms—they had quite a few—were converted into places to keep hostages, a few made for business meetings. This one was bare except for a couch on the other side of the room from them; the doorway to their left was an open one. Iwaizumi and Matsukawa stood there, still talking, occasionally glancing at their hostages to make sure they weren’t trying anything. Even if they wanted to, there wasn’t anything to try. Matsukawa’s magic was strong; they could barely move at all. Tobio was just glad they hadn’t been gagged.

No one had explained what they were doing waiting here. Iwaizumi had said he was taking them to Oikawa, but he led them here, Matsukawa showing up minutes afterward to keep them contained. Tobio couldn’t imagine what was making them wait, especially after Oikawa had been so strict with his time limits. Why would he still be giving them time? What could be monopolizing him so much that Karasuno had to _wait_? When he’d been so desperate to get Tobio here?

Maybe he was hurting Hinata and Kenma. But Iwaizumi had said they would keep their promises as long as Karasuno kept theirs. And they’d kept theirs, hadn’t they? So why would he…?  
_Idiot_ , _why would you trust him? Either of them?_ Tobio had been betrayed once by Oikawa. So why was he still so willing to accept his word?

Because he didn’t have any other choice. Because Hinata was in danger; because he had someone to protect again, something that had been taken from him the first time.

He understood Kuroo’s anger suddenly—the helplessness he was feeling. Tobio understood it. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Suga nudged him with an elbow softly. “Kageyama? Are…are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” He opened his eyes again, offering Suga a smile. It wavered, felt forced. He didn’t want to smile; he wanted to scream. They’d put themselves in this helpless situation. Maybe they should’ve barged in, guns blazing, instead of giving themselves up so easily. Maybe…

“That’s good.” Suga smiled back, even though he must have known what Tobio was really thinking. “We just need to be patient. All of us. It’s hard, I know, with Hinata and Kenma still with Oikawa…but everything’s gonna be fine. I promise.”

Tobio hadn’t believed promises like that in years. But he nodded.

“I’m sure there’s a reason why we’re waiting. Do you think if you asked Iwaizumi he would tell us?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He thought about it for another moment and shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Suga hummed quietly in response. They sat next to each other, Suga purposefully not pushing, Tobio purposefully not speaking. He finally sat up, leaning past Suga to see Iwaizumi and Matsukawa. He said, as steadily as he could, “Iwaizumi?”

He turned around. It definitely wasn’t the first time they’d looked at each other, but it was the first time they’d spoken directly. “Yes?”

“Why are we waiting here?” _Where’s Oikawa? What’s taking so long? What’s going on?_ Tobio had more questions to ask, but he was lucky to get that one out. His voice didn’t shake, thank God. He thought for a moment it was going to. This shouldn’t be this hard. He shouldn’t be this affected.

“Oikawa is busy at the moment,” Iwaizumi answered smoothly. It was a lie, and Tobio knew it was. He could see it in his face, in his body language. Iwaizumi must have known that he knew, didn’t he? Or maybe he’d assumed it had been so long that Tobio would have forgotten.

Tooru had been Tobio’s first friend, but that had ended. Iwaizumi had been the first _real_ friend that Tobio had, the first one to want to protect and care for him even after Tobio’s dad started treating Tooru differently, even after Tooru’s attitude shifted and his love disintegrated. Even when Tooru refused to let Tobio play with them, hang out with them, be with them, Iwaizumi had still offered.

How long had the three of them lived together? How many years had they learned to look out for only one another, before Tooru changed? It had only been nine since then. Nine, in comparison to the thirty before that. Almost no time had passed if Tobio looked at it that way. He still missed them, both of them, still wanted to eat breakfast together and play games at night before going to bed. Iwaizumi had taught him to swim. He was as much of a brother to Tobio as Tooru was.

How could Iwaizumi think Tobio would forget?

“You’ll just need to wait here for the time being,” Iwaizumi said.

 

\--

 

The safe house was a small log cabin with the windows broken in and the walls decaying.

Oikawa explained to them that it had been here since before he was born. He didn’t know who built it or why it was there, but when he was little, he would sneak out here to be alone and spend his time in the cabin. It was almost entirely empty upon entering, and the few pieces of furniture scattered around were rotting. In the corner, covered in dust, were two different boxes of games: one a puzzle, the other a board game. Both clearly untouched for years now.

Kenma could imagine Oikawa as a child, wishing what little free time he had away in this small room, alone. Sitting in the corner with his board game out but unused, lying on the wooden panels and staring at the sky through the crack in the roof. Years without maintenance had left it shabby and pathetic looking, but Kenma could still clearly see Oikawa here.

“I only stayed out for an hour at most at a time,” he explained, running a hand over a counter. His fingers returned covered in dust. “Otherwise my parents would find out where I was and get rid of this place or tell me not to come here anymore.”

“Did they ever find out?” Shouyou asked.

“No. I’ve always been good with keeping secrets.”

Oikawa wiped the dust off on his pants’ leg and moved on around the room. He seemed to be taking it all in again, and Shouyou wondered how long it’d been since he had seen this place.

“Kageyama didn’t know?”

“I didn’t tell him. I wanted it to be just for me.”

“You didn’t tell Iwaizumi, either.”

He smiled, like the three of them were in on some elaborate joke. Or maybe a scheme. “No, I didn’t tell Iwaizumi either. That’s why it’s called a _safe_ house. We’re safe here, even from the people currently trying to help you.”

Their—Kenma’s—Shouyou’s—fear spiked. Maybe following the person currently holding them hostage hadn’t been the best decision; maybe they’d die here, with no way for anyone else to know of their whereabouts. Even if they somehow managed to deal with Oikawa, were he to try to hurt them, there was no way to call for help out here. Had they walked into a trap?

“Calm down. You’re overthinking it.” Oikawa turned away from them, making himself comfortable in one of the only wicker chairs still standing on four legs. He crossed his ankle over the other thigh and folded his hands in his lap casually. “How many times do I have to assure you that I don’t have any interest in hurting you? If you really do think you can help me…well, it would only do _me_ harm to hurt you at this point.”

“I could kill you,” Kenma said.

“On purpose?”

They nodded.

“I guess you could, considering the state I’m in.” He smiled. “I did consider that when you offered to help, but I’m dying anyway. I figured I don’t have much more to lose.”

“You always have something left to lose.” They said it so quietly that Oikawa couldn’t hear them—but when he asked them to repeat it, they only shook their head and moved towards the wicker chair.

Kenma’s specialty when he was alive hadn’t been curses or charms, but he wracked his brain trying to remember what little he’d learned when in school and whatever he’d picked up on the street with Kuroo. He started with basic questions that might jog some memory.

“Does it hurt you? Is that how you know that you’re dying?”

“I have fainting spells,” Oikawa said. “And I’m much weaker now than I’ve ever been. It’s been like that for months now, with my energy draining gradually. It’s sucking out my life force, the curse. That’s what all the doctors have said. The curse is trying to eat me from the inside out.”

“Are you in pain now?”

“I’m always in some, but no, not more than usual.”

They frowned and took a step forward, reaching out a hand to feel the skin on Oikawa’s forehead. He was cold, even cold for a vampire. Kenma frowned, still trying to remember something about curses. A curse that sucks the life from the cursed. A parasitic type, then? If that’s the case, no wonder it had been pronounced terminal. Parasitic types were the hardest to deal with, and depending on how powerful the witch, they could be proven fatal.

He wondered just what Oikawa’s parents had done to a witch as powerful as this to get on their bad side. For the second time, Oikawa was forced into a life that he didn’t want, one that was chosen for him from before he was even born. All because of other people’s decisions.

Neither of them could relate, but Shouyou pitied him for it. Despite everything, he still pitied Oikawa for the life he’d been given.

“What’s the news, doctor?” Oikawa joked, not sounding at all like he thought it was funny. He still sat in the chair, never moving. “Am I going to live?”

“I’m not sure,” they admitted.

“You’re not sure.”

“I’m—…we’re not sure. It’s hard to tell right now. It will probably be hard until we try something to fix the problem.” This didn’t feel like the time for carefully crafted, well-thought out plans. Something like this required just as much impulse as they’d needed getting here, and maybe even then some.

Shouyou had never used magic before. It was a weird experience, feeling it flowing through him along with Kenma’s—thoughts? He couldn’t tell if they were thoughts. They sounded like his most of the time. They shared most things at the moment, but what they didn’t share was the complete awe at feeling magic in his veins, at knowing that it was real and it was usable. He could use this. It was his as much as it was Kenma’s right now.

Was his shapeshifting Kenma’s now too in that case? How much did they share? How much was new? Kenma hadn’t been able to use magic when he was a ghost—the power died with his body, but it was back now. Shouyou had never used magic before, but somewhere underneath his awe, he felt…nostalgic. Like he was coming home. And the magic seemed to tell him that it had missed him, somehow. That it had been waiting for him to come back all this time.

“Close your eyes,” Kenma said. Oikawa did so without question, his eyes fluttering shut and his chest rising with an intake of breath. They brushed their fingers across his forehead, trying to find… _something_. Shouyou wasn’t sure what they were looking for, but he knew he’d recognize it if or when it was found.

Kenma had been a witch and a seer. It wasn’t unusual for a monster to be more than one type these days, but that combination was rare. When he was still alive, Kenma hadn’t made much use of the seer part of him—it was small, one of his parents must have had some seer blood down the line, maybe a grandparent, he didn’t know. The magic from the rest of his family had been enough to get him by, enough to hold onto. Losing it had been difficult. Claiming a _third_ identity had been difficult—being a ghost had been difficult. A lot of him was lost when he died, and his abilities had gone with it.

But having them back, they felt stronger than they ever had during life. His body—Shouyou’s—theirs—pulsed with energy that had never been there. Energy and magic and strength Kenma had forgotten.

If only he could remember how curses were dealt with…

“What happens if you can’t do it?” Oikawa said suddenly. His eyes were still closed, but they saw them shift underneath his eyelids from one side to the other. Their fingertips pressed into his temples gently, moving on from his forehead.

“I don’t know,” they admitted. “You take us back? Things continue like you wanted them to?”

“Tobio takes over.”

They were silent after that. Temples—nothing. Further inward, brushing across his eyelids. He didn’t so much at flinch at their fingertips there.

“You’re angry,” he said.

“Of course.”

“You don’t want him to leave Karasuno. I understand. Especially Shouyou.”

“We don’t know that you _do_.” Eyelids. Nothing. Their hands dropped. Oikawa still didn’t open his eyes. Shouyou felt their skin burning. Would they shift? Or was the medicine still doing its job and keeping them contained to only this body? “You don’t understand any of the things you do. Not fully. If you did, you wouldn’t be doing them.”

Oikawa pressed his lips together. He didn’t look angry, or even bothered by the statement. But he finally opened his eyes, slowly, and looked at them. They wondered what they looked like right now—if the outside was reflecting the in. Probably not. Oikawa probably only saw another fifteen-year-old kid who’d never been in his place.

“I had a reason for telling you all of this. I didn’t think you would help me, or even be able to—and I still don’t think that you’ll succeed in curing me. But I wanted to tell you why I’m doing what I’m doing so you’ll understand.”

“So we won’t hate you so much.”

“If you want to put it like that.”

“So we could make Kageyama understand?”

He smiled sadly. “That too.”

“That’s crueler than anything,” Shouyou said. “Making us understand you right before you take our family away. Making us get why you’re hurting Kageyama so badly right before you hurt him the worst. Making us pity you before you do something like this. Making _us_ pity you even when we’re the ones being held hostage. That’s…the cruelest thing you can do.”

“You would’ve been better off wanting me dead,” Oikawa agreed. “But I’ve tried that already—with Tobio. I’ve found that it only makes everything worse in the long run.”

 

\--

 

Iwaizumi and Matsukawa had stopped talking. They were only standing now, a few feet between them, Iwaizumi leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Something had happened. Tobio couldn’t tell what, and their conversation had been spoken too quietly for him to catch anything significant, but he knew something was up.

Maybe Hinata was already dead, part of him worried. Maybe Oikawa had done something to hurt them and overestimated somehow, or maybe he’d done it on purpose just because he could. Just because he wanted to. What other reason would Iwaizumi have for looking so worried, so uncertain?

“Calm down,” Suga said from beside him, sensing his panic building. Their hands were still tied, but Suga leaned his shoulder against Tobio’s gently in a sort-of hug. On Suga’s other side, Shimizu, Kuroo, and Daichi still sat, unaware of Tobio’s panic. “There’s no need for you to freak out right now. Just breathe.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Tobio hissed.

“Just breathe,” Suga repeated.

He did. Or at least, he tried to, but it was difficult—the image of Hinata’s dead body kept bombarding him even when he kept his eyes wide open. Hinata, limp; Hinata, bleeding out, lying on the ground with a chunk taken out of his side; Hinata, still alive but just barely, lips moving but no sound coming out. Hinata, suffering the same fate Tobio’s mother had, the same fate so many others involved with Oikawa had.

The room was caving in on him. Where was Hinata? Please be alive, please be okay. Hinata—he was going to die and it would be Tobio’s fault, wouldn’t it, this whole thing was his fault, he shouldn’t have ever joined Karasuno to begin with, Hinata was going to _die because of him_ —

“Kageyama!” Suga was saying, calling for him, and Tobio could see the other moving out of his peripheral but he couldn’t respond, couldn’t feel him. That image was still there, the made up one—or the real one—he couldn’t tell. Oikawa would kill him, wouldn’t he, he wouldn’t keep his promise, when had he ever kept his promises? They should’ve fought back, should’ve tried to overpower them and take Hinata and get out of here, should’ve tried to run—running would’ve been better than Hinata _dying_ —

“He’s having a panic attack! Iwaizumi, please, let me help him!”

Was he having a panic attack? Tobio had had those before, hadn’t he? Maybe. He couldn’t remember. Was that what was happening?

Suga’s hands were on his shoulders, and he finally looked up from the ground. He felt like he was having a seizure, or a heart attack, or maybe both. He couldn’t breathe. Suga’s eyes were on his, wide and worried, and the hands weren’t on his shoulders but on his cheeks, holding him, saying, _just breathe, Kageyama, breathe like I told you to earlier, everything’s going to be okay_ …

Again, he tried. It sort of worked this time. Suga’s hands were no longer cupping his face but pulling him into a hug, squishing his face against a familiar chest. When he’d first joined Karasuno, when his scars were first healing, he had quite a few moments like this, ending with Sugawara and him like this, hugging, mostly to calm Tobio down. It was part of why he and Suga were so close. Suga had been the one to really make sure he was okay those first few weeks after—after everything. He’d been the one to reach out and let Tobio know he was welcome at Karasuno, that he had family there.

The familiarity of it was what managed to bring Tobio fully back to himself. He hugged Suga back, counting to five in his head as he inhaled, holding and then exhaling in rhythm too, the way Suga had taught him. He’d never had panic attacks as a child—or maybe he had and just hadn’t known what they were called. Either way, Suga was the one to teach him how to handle it effectively.

“Everyone is okay.” Tobio became aware finally of Suga mumbling affirmations into his ear. “Everyone is okay, we’re all okay, you’re okay. No one is in danger. It’ll be fine. Just keep breathing, just breathe…”

“I’m okay now,” he said. It came out mumbled. Suga pulled away, and behind him, Tobio saw Iwaizumi watching their exchange, his expression blank. Tobio became vividly aware that his attack had been incredibly public, and in front of their enemies no less. Shame burned in his stomach.

“You’re sure?” Suga looked at him, searching Tobio’s face, probably for a sign that he was lying or maybe pushing himself. Tobio nodded and repeated that he was okay, mostly to end the whole affair.

Finally, Suga seemed to believe him. He let go of Tobio’s shoulders, moving away. They still sat crouched on the ground. When Tobio glanced at everyone else, they were giving him worried looks—all except Kuroo. He was only staring at the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Tobio managed to say. His face burned with mortification. Matsukawa and Iwaizumi weren’t looking at him either. Iwaizumi must have lost interest in the scene.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Daichi assured him, offering a smile. “We understand.”

Shimizu nodded her agreement. Again, Kuroo said nothing. He only continued looking, his eyebrows scrunched up, maybe in thought, maybe in anger. Tobio hoped it wasn’t directed at him.

Now that he could breathe correctly, he tried not to think about what was holding Oikawa up, or what would happen once they actually spoke to Oikawa. He just need to be patient. For now, it was fine. He was fine. He had fared much worse than this, and so had everyone else. They would be fine.

Suga stood up, looking towards Matsukawa. “Thank you for understanding,” he said, putting his wrists together and raising them, offering them to Matsukawa. Tobio realized suddenly that Suga’s hands had been freed so he could help him, and thought it strange that someone working for Aoba Johsai would allow something like that. That seemed too compassionate an action, to insignificant a reason to free a hostage. Maybe Matsukawa was new, Tobio thought. Maybe he hadn’t been integrated fully into this lifestyle yet.

Matsukawa nodded his response. He took a step towards Suga, and his body was thrown across the room. He hit the wall with a sickening crunch, falling limply, boneless, like a ragdoll, and his eyes stayed closed.

Iwaizumi reacted first. He spun around as if to attack Suga, but it hadn’t been the vampire who’d thrown Matsukawa. Kuroo was standing, his hands by his sides and clearly unbound, panting with exertion. But he was clearly grinning.

“Yeah,” he said, looking towards Shimizu. “By the looks of it, he _was_ a pretty average student.”

 

\--

 

Oikawa spoke.

He was a talker. They had known that from the moment they were brought here. The stories surrounding him, passed around through communities, horrifying tales that painted him as a ruthless leader—they had not done him justice. He didn’t talk about any of the bad things, not explicitly; he didn’t tell them how many people he’d killed, how many he’d screwed over, how many he’d abandoned. He didn’t mention the heinous crimes Shouyou knew somewhere he had committed. When he spoke, he only spoke about his childhood, about Kageyama.

A part of Shouyou didn’t want to hear it. It was the same part that had cried upon learning that Oikawa was dying, the same part that told Oikawa this was the cruelest thing he could do. He didn’t want to know about Oikawa’s life, he didn’t want to hear about him as a person, as someone capable of loving and wanting and hoping for the best. As someone afraid of death.

Oikawa kept his eyes closed. They sat on the dust-covered floor in front of Oikawa, who’d made himself comfortable in one of the wicker chairs. Kenma passed their hands along his temples, the bridge of his nose, still trying to find whatever it was the two of them were looking for. As they did, Oikawa kept speaking, and it sounded more and more as time went on that he was doing it for his sake, instead of theirs.

He talked about growing up with his parents. About Iwaizumi, then Kageyama. It was inevitable, maybe, but eventually the questions came.

“You said he has a scar,” Oikawa said. Kenma took their hands away and let them drop by their side. Shouyou raised them, crossed them loosely.

“He does.”

“Is there anything else that’s…different?”

Than when Oikawa last saw him? It had been almost a decade. There were probably a million things that were different. Shouyou wondered if he really wanted an answer, or if he was only looking for confirmation that the Kageyama he knew had stayed that version of himself. Or maybe he wanted to make sure that he had grown after that. That he had moved on from Oikawa and Aoba Johsai.

“We don’t know,” they said.

His eyelashes fluttered. He finally opened his eyes again, for the first time since he’d started telling stories, only to stare at the hard wood. The floor was rotting. “That was a stupid question to ask. Of course there’s no way for you to know. You didn’t know him until before this year, right.” Again, it sounded more for his own sake than theirs.

Kenma hadn’t pitied him. He’d agreed to help, and he wanted to succeed, but he hadn’t pitied Oikawa; that was Shouyou’s job. But with every second that ticked by where they couldn’t find—whatever it was they were looking for—Oikawa grew more heavy, like the acceptance was a weight falling slowly onto his shoulders. Kenma realized that he really _did_ want to help.

“You do horrible things,” Kenma said. Oikawa looked up, blinking at them. “And if we save you, you’ll only continue to do those horrible things. We shouldn’t be able to, in good conscience, allow you to keep living.”

He was silent.

“But we’re going to,” Kenma continued. “Shouyou wants you to live because you’re Kageyama’s brother, and because he thinks if we can save someone, we should.”

“Then what about you, Kenma-kun?”

“I want you to live with your consequences. And because I know someone like you.”

Oikawa smiled. “I thought Kuroo would give up his life with the hitmen now that he has you again?”

“Maybe,” they admitted.

Somewhere, they heard someone suffocating. _Everyone is okay_. Kuroo’s voice. The water was back but—different this time. It wasn’t water so much as tar, mud, quicksand, engulfing them and swallowing their senses. Shouyou reached out to find Kenma, knowing now that was the best way to stay grounded, and came back with Kenma’s concern and—something like fear.

_Something happened. Something? What something? Something happened with Kuroo. Back at the mansion. We need to get back. What something? I don’t know. We need to know. What if they’re hurt? Kuroo might be hurt. Kageyama might be hurt. Kuroo—he’s here. Who else is here? They’re in danger, something’s happening_ …

“We need to get back to the mansion.” They stood up, smoothing away dirt from their pants, and started towards the door, offering no other explanation. Behind them, Oikawa got from his chair, the legs scraping against the floor as he pushed back.

“What? Why?”

“Something’s happened.”

“Something’s…” His eyebrows furrowed, but he still followed them, shutting the safe house’s door behind them and locking it with a key they hadn’t realized he’d had. “Something’s _happened_? What _something_? How do you know? What’s going on?”

“We don’t know. But something’s happened at the mansion, and we need to get back before it escalates.”

“Before _what_ escalates?” The last question, though, was mumbled; Oikawa seemed to accept that he wasn’t going to get more specific answers from them. They were thankful for that. It would’ve been difficult to explain a feeling like that to someone who had never experienced it.

Oikawa led the way back through the forest, but Kenma—Shouyou—they set a brisk pace, and as the noise increased in their head—someone was yelling, someone was hurt, someone was smiling, someone was heaving—they sped up until they were running. Shouyou’s feet took the both of them as quickly as they could, Oikawa keeping up just in front of them, until the mansion’s tall expanse peaked over the tree line and the dread set in.

The mud thickened. Kuroo was yelling something to—someone, maybe Kageyama, maybe Iwaizumi, and Kageyama was only standing, unsure, frightened. In their peripheral, they saw a body slumped against the floor. Someone’s floor. Someone’s body. They weren’t sure who, and the ambiguity of it had them pushing through the mansion’s closest entrance.

There was no noise when they first stepped inside. It was quiet around the mansion, the only sound their feet—Oikawa’s right behind them—clattering against the floor, tile then wood, as they ran. The house was huge, and the only direction they had was the mud thickening and thinning as they moved until they were at the threshold leading into a living room.

The man that was in the car with Oikawa lying unmoving on the ground, but it was hard to tell if he was dead or only unconscious. Iwaizumi and Kuroo stood across from each other, both breathing heavily.

Daichi noticed them first.

“Hinata!”

Kageyama’s head snapped up to them, and relief washed over his face before his eyes landed behind them, on Oikawa. Oikawa seemed just as shell-shocked; Shouyou wondered if it was the scars that had gotten him.

Still, Oikawa was the first to move. He stepped out from behind Kenma—Shouyou—and demanded, “What the hell is going on?!” His eyes moved to the man on the ground, and then there was no expression. He turned back to Iwaizumi and seemed to say something to him with his eyes.

Sugawara was in the back, away from whatever it was that had just transpired, Kageyama next to him. Kageyama shoved his way across the room but faltered when he actually got to them. Maybe they actually _did_ look different; his expression said that he was surprised. But maybe that was left over from seeing his brother again. They couldn’t be sure.

Something happened. Something again. Oikawa and Iwaizumi moved to the man on the ground; Kageyama took the last step forward and hugged Shouyou; Daichi, Suga, and Shimizu stood back, looking unsure; and Kuroo stood in the middle of all of the movement, stock still. He turned his eyes on Shouyou—Kenma—and mouthed Kenma’s name. They nodded. The same relief that had been on Kageyama’s face washed over his.

The relief didn’t last long. The mud got worse: _something from behind_. Kenma tensed, shoved Kageyama away, and felt Iwaizumi still behind them. It was hard to tell if his intent had been to attack. Kuroo had attacked first; Kenma got that just from looking at him; it had been over—something. Their safety, maybe. Iwaizumi had responded. The man on the ground—his name was Matsukawa, they realized, the same way they had realized something was going on at all—was unconscious. Not dead. But Shouyou couldn’t imagine that that looked good to Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“You didn’t uphold your end of the bargain,” Oikawa said. He wasn’t looking at Kageyama. Maybe one look had been enough for him. With all that he had spoken at the safe house, they thought his response would’ve been bigger, worse—but his eyes skimmed right over his brother like he wasn’t even there. Or maybe just like it didn’t matter to him.

They realized at once that there were a few ways this could go: Oikawa could forgive the transgression—say it was because Kuroo had been scared he was hurting Kenma and Shouyou—and Kageyama would stay here and eventually take over. Things would continue like they had originally planned. Everyone else would leave unharmed, at least physically. Or: they could choose not to give Kageyama up, despite previous cooperation.

It was seven against two, after all. Those odds weren’t bad. But then again, the margin had been even worse in favor of Oikawa when he’d first arrived at Karasuno, and he’d still walked away with Shouyou.

“We don’t need to uphold it anymore,” Kenma said. All eyes in the room turned to him and Shouyou. He wondered if they knew who was speaking right now. “Remember our deal? We haven’t given up on it. If we succeed, Kageyama doesn’t need to stay here, and that bargain becomes void.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrowed. He had been crouched next to Matsukawa to take his pulse, but he stood now. He couldn’t have missed the way Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrowed, or the similar confusion everyone else wore.

“If you would let us try again,” they continued, “then we wouldn’t—“

“You’ve tried once and it didn’t work,” he snapped. “You don’t know anything. It didn’t work. Give up on it already! Kageyama’s staying here!”

“He doesn’t need to if we can help—“

“You can’t help! Shut up!”

It was the most violent response they’d gotten out of him. Even when he was talking about his past, it had never been with anything but nostalgia, melancholy. Now he was angry. Iwaizumi took a step towards Shouyou and Kenma, eyes on them.

“What are you talking about? What ‘deal’?”

They paused. _We shouldn’t—we can’t tell him—it’s not our business—but he deserves to know—_ “That’s for Oikawa to tell you.”

No one said anything. No one moved. No one in the room mattered right now except Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and the former was stubbornly looking at Kenma—Shouyou—and refused to look away. They saw his jaw tighten.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi said. His voice was tight. This moment was not meant for anyone but the two of them. “What ‘ _deal_ ’?”

“It’s…”

“Tooru—“

“I was going to tell you,” Oikawa interrupted. He spoke in a rush, like if he didn’t get the words out quick enough they would get snagged on his teeth and never come out. “But it doesn’t even matter now because there’s nothing we can do to change it, I told them that. Shouyou and Kenma, they wanted to help me and I said they could, but there isn’t a way for them to so there’s not even a point in bringing it up.”

Before Iwaizumi could interrogate more, Kuroo demanded, “Someone explain what the hell is going on right now!”

“It’s not your business.”

“If it affects what happens to Kageyama, it’s _all of our business!_ ”

Oikawa seemed to pause at that. He pressed his lips together and looked away slowly from Kuroo. Kenma imagined this man, chaining Kuroo up and electrocuting him for information he didn’t have. It fit disharmoniously in between the other images he’d acquired of Aoba Johsai’s leader the past couple hours, but however disharmonious it was, it was honest.

“I’m dying,” he finally said.

The statement came out as a whisper. The words he spoke were the same he’d given Kenma and Shouyou, the same explanation like he’d had it ready for this moment, and as he continued, it slowly sunk in to everyone. Watching Kageyama’s expression was the worst of all. Somehow even worse than Iwaizumi’s.

At the end of it, Oikawa said:

“Kenma and Shouyou, they were trying to cure me. But it didn’t work. They couldn’t manage it, and now we’re back at square one, and Kageyama still isn’t leaving this building with Karasuno.”

“You need him to take over for you,” Daichi said, putting the pieces together. “That’s why you wanted him to come back so badly? Because you’re running out of time?”

Oikawa didn’t answer. He looked at Kageyama for the first real time. “This is _your_ life,” he said, “this is what you were given. This is your duty as a Kageyama, don’t you get it? This is what you were born to be. You have to be the leader.”

“Fucking idiot!”

Iwaizumi looked furious. Oikawa blinked at him. “What…?”

“You don’t _need_ Kageyama to take over! There are other members of Seijou that would gladly take your spot when—” Although he had been yelling, his voice died suddenly. He couldn’t seem to get the word out, but it hung heavy in the room, silent and overbearing. “ _I_ could’ve taken your spot, if _you’d just asked me!_ ”

Oikawa shook his head. “I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t make you take that on.”

“But you’d make Kageyama? After you exiled him from this life in the first place?!”

“I didn’t know I was cursed then! And that wasn’t—you _know_ the truth behind that!”

“The logic still stands that you should’ve just asked me!”

Something happened. Kuroo took a step forward at that same moment that the floor split open and ivy crawled out. It wrapped around Kuroo’s ankle before he could jump out of the way, keeping him there, and he yelped in pain, falling down to clutch at his ankle. Iwaizumi hadn’t looked away from Oikawa, but his hand was out like he’d thrown it towards the floor.

“Iwaizumi,” Kageyama said hesitantly. But he didn’t make to move like Kuroo had.

“Not right now. No one is leaving this damn room until we get this sorted out.”

Kenma crouched next to Kuroo, a hand on his shoulder to comfort. The ivy was thick and covered in thorns, and upon closer examination, blood was running down Kuroo’s pant leg and into his shoes. They were stuck deep into his flesh, deep enough that, unless he could immediately be healed, it would only hurt him more if they were yanked out.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi were still talking, but Kenma ignored them. Kuroo clenched his teeth, eyebrows knitted in pain.

“Kuro,” Kenma said. “Move your hand.”

“What?”

“Move your hand out of the way. I’m going to heal it.”

For a second, Kuroo only stared at them as if trying to decide if they were lying or not. He took his hand away from the wounds slowly and pulled his pants leg up, exposing the naked skin. Kenma didn’t even touch it, but the ivy moved out of the way, the thorns yanking themselves from Kuroo’s ankle. He winced but didn’t cry out, and the skin closed up around itself, stitching back together.

Within moments, he was fine, and Iwaizumi was too busy arguing with Oikawa to realize that Kuroo was free again.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Kuroo mumbled, quiet enough that Iwaizumi wouldn’t hear them.

“I didn’t know I could either,” Kenma admitted. Shouyou added, “It’s new for both of us.”

The ivy was growing again, although this time not around Kuroo. It was climbing across the flooring, out of the crevice in the wood and around the floorboards sticking out at odd places. The louder Iwaizumi’s voice got, the further they spread, until they reached the other side of the room. One brushed against Iwaizumi’s foot. He didn’t notice them.

_They’re distracted. We need to leave. But what about Oikawa? What about him? We promised to help him. But we need to leave. We need to help Kageyama first. But we promised. We can help him. We just healed Kuroo, why couldn’t we heal him? It’s not the same thing. Why isn’t it? Why can’t it be? We need to try at the very least, we need to, we can’t leave him here knowing he’s dying._

_Shouyou, you know how many people he’s let die?_

_Yes._

“I was trying to protect you!”

Oikawa’s shriek cut through their mind. He was desperate to be understood; they felt it, felt the hopelessness, felt the despair as Iwaizumi only grew angrier and more disbelieving as the moments passed. He wanted Iwaizumi to understand. He didn’t want to make the same mistake that he had with Kageyama; they felt it.

“I don’t need your protection.”

Understand me, please. Understand me. I was doing what was best. I didn’t want this life for anyone. I was going to take it myself. Please understand. I didn’t want to hurt you. Either of you.

The ivy scratched against Oikawa’s shoes, and he looked away for the first time. “Iwa-chan, you’re…”

Kageyama wasn’t watching them anymore. He’d moved, coming to stand next to Shouyou, Kuroo on the other side. Daichi and Sugawara—where were they? The mud and ivy got worse. Something was happening, was going to happen. Had you been doing your best? It wasn’t good enough. How many people do you think he’s let die? How many people has he manipulated into killing for him? And Iwaizumi—why had he hurt—Kuroo—hadn’t we known that? He was going to hurt us. But not someone we cared about. Shouyou—Kenma—Kenma—they were full to bursting with something. Something. Was going to happen.

The ivy wrapped around Iwaizumi. He jerked away, realizing for the first time that he had been commanding that in his anger, but the ivy kept moving. The thorns disappeared into his skin the way they had into Kuroo’s, and he thrashed as it wrapped around him. No scream ripped from his throat, even as he bled onto the floor. More floorboards came up, cracking as plants ripped through them, bursting from the ground and finding whatever was nearest to attach themselves to.

“Hinata!”

Hinata? Shouyou. Shouyou, Kenma. Neither, both. Something new.

A hand touched their shoulder, only to yank them backwards and away from Iwaizumi, who was struggling. Oikawa was saying something. Maybe he was yelling. He was helpless to save Iwaizumi. Was this the first time he had felt like this? Was this the first he’d ever really, truly felt helpless?

“Hinata! Stop it!”

Hinata? Was that their name? No, no, that wasn’t their name. Who was touching them? More floorboards came up. They were being pulled into someone, then from both sides. Someone was talking to them again. Someone familiar.

Kageyama—that’s right, someone familiar. Kageyama was going to have to stay here. They needed to get him out—they needed to leave. They couldn’t leave. There was something left to do.

Oikawa was still yelling, but no sound came out of his mouth: his lips moved, up and down, opening and closing in rapid succession, not making a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments r loved and appreciated As always :'D


	19. holding onto you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You get a second try, and if you succeed by some miracle, I’ll let Kageyama leave with you. But I should warn you that I don’t bow to anyone.” He levelled them with a stare, smiling almost mockingly. “Even gods.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS !! the (second to) last chapter!! after this we only have the epilogue !!!!! what!! this is crazy!!
> 
> this ended up being shorter than most of our other chapters at only 6k (next to our highest record of 15k lmao) so!! apologies for that
> 
> even tho we're (almost) at the end, this world isnt over!! there are a few side stories we're interested in writing, and gray is further in progress with content for the comic that this au was based off of (which u can always come talk to him abt on his tumblr) (pls do) (he loves talking abt it)
> 
> **chapter TWs** : again, nothing worse than usual. there really arent that many things to warn abt in this chapter honestly? outside of general violence and talk of death. so thats probably good
> 
> without further ado... the climax!!!

Tobio was panicking.

This entire situation had been dangerous from the start, he knew that. He hadn’t even planned on getting out of this okay, but this—this wasn’t even worst case scenario. Daichi hadn’t mentioned anything about the possibility of Hinata going rogue. No one had thought of it, and for good reason.

Oikawa was still trying to claw through the ivy with his hands and teeth, fighting against it. His own feet were held to the ground, and although he’d made moves towards Hinata to get it to stop, he was stuck there. Hinata wasn’t responding to anything—no amount of pleading or yelling could get his attention.

Hinata had ceased to be Hinata. The moment he’d returned with Oikawa, Tobio knew that he was not himself, that he was more—or maybe less. It was hard to tell, and the odd behavior hadn’t helped. Oikawa said he hadn’t done anything to Hinata, but Tobio couldn’t imagine that was the whole truth with the way he looked. His eyes had started out vacant and stayed vacant, like he was there but only below the surface; even when he’d pulled Tobio into him, it hadn’t been _him_.

Any uncertainty about it had disappeared. This was not Hinata. Still, they called his name.

Kuroo lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Hinata’s waist and yanking backwards as if that would stop the ivy. For a moment, it did; Hinata—or, not Hinata, whoever it was, this creature—dropped his arms to pry away from Kuroo. The ivy released its grip on Iwaizumi, letting him slide to the ground. The sound of his body hitting the floor reverberated around the room.

“Stop it! Kenma! Stop it!”

Kenma? Tobio hadn’t forgotten about him. But he hadn’t realized—maybe it was Kenma doing this? Was Hinata possessed? But, no, that hadn’t seemed like Kenma either. The action was uncharacteristic of either of them. The expression, too.

Iwaizumi was rasping, gasping for breath. His neck was bleeding heavily, dripping into his collarbones and staining his shirt. The ivy around Oikawa’s ankles loosened, and he wrestled out of it to rush to Iwaizumi. Kuroo still had Hinata, who was kicking to get loose. He seemed to be winning, too.

“A little help would be nice!” Kuroo barked over his shoulder. It was enough to shake Tobio out of his shock, and he moved forward to help. Daichi had the same thought. Suga was with Shimizu, kneeling by Iwaizumi while Oikawa snapped something at them, maybe about helping.

It took all three of them to hold Hinata down, and even then, he was still struggling to free himself.

“Let go—have to—Iwaizumi—“ His voice didn’t sound like his voice, warped into something different, and the way he spoke—cutting himself off, like he couldn’t quite decide what he wanted to say or who he wanted to say it to—unnerved Tobio. His eyes were a dull orange, no shine to them. When he was possessed by Kenma, they turned gold, but they had never looked like this. Something about him looked a little less like a person, his face a little too long, his hands a little too spindly, nails morphing into claws. When he opened his mouth to speak, sharp teeth like an animal's poked out. Tobio wondered if he hadn’t shifted on accident.

“Going to hurt—us—he was going to—“

“What are you talking about?!” Kuroo demanded. He seemed to be the only one who knew how to respond to this situation. Daichi and Tobio had only done what was asked of them, too shocked to do anything else. “Kenma, Hinata—calm down, no one is hurting you right now!”

“You’re hurting us,” he pointed out. He spoke calmly, a great contrast to the way he was trying to throw Kuroo off.

“Because you were strangling Iwaizumi! How are we going to negotiate with Oikawa if you kill his bodyguard, huh? Calm down! We’ll let you go if you’d just—stop freaking out!”

Hinata’s body relaxed suddenly at the words like the command had forced it out of him. He hung, deadweight, forcing Kuroo and Daichi to lower him to the ground or have him hit it unceremoniously. Tobio stood back. An eerie calm had fallen over Hinata. Sometime between strangling Iwaizumi and hitting the ground, the orange of his eyes had swallowed the whites, and then they were no longer orange, but a dull gray, almost black. He turned his eyes towards Tobio, and something about him moved like a bird. He stared straight at Tobio and said nothing. Behind them, they could hear Oikawa mumbling something to Suga and Shimizu. Iwaizumi was speaking, but it was quiet and barely audible. Tobio wondered if he wouldn’t choke on his own blood before they got him patched up.

“We won’t negotiate with Oikawa,” Hinata said after a long silence. A chill ran up Tobio’s spine. The tone was definitive and otherworldly, like they were in the presence not of the shapeshifter they’d known for the past three months, but of some wraithlike being. If anyone else was affected—if anyone else noticed—Tobio didn’t see their reaction.

“And what do you suggest we do then?” Daichi asked. “You can’t strangle someone again, Hin—“ He stopped, as if realizing for the first time that he was no longer speaking to Hinata. He didn’t replace the name with anything else. Only left the first syllable hanging in the air.

“It worked the last time.”

“It did _not_ ,” Kuroo snapped.

“Didn’t you want to kill him?”

The way that he said it—so calm, collected, like it was only a fact of life, like they were talking about the weather instead of death… Kuroo paused, mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say. Tobio could sympathize.

“Yes,” Kuroo said finally. “When I’d thought they were torturing you, I did. But Kageyama’s life is riding on us _not_ killing Iwaizumi right now. And, who knows, maybe near-death was enough for Oikawa to make up his mind.”

It was odd, to see Kuroo’s anger directed at…Hinata, or Kenma, or whoever this was. Tobio had only ever seen his anger directed at Daichi, at Suga, at Asahi. Not anyone else. But he was undeniably angry right now. Angry that they’d been reckless, angry that they might have just ruined Tobio’s chances of going home, angry that Hinata—Kenma—whatever creature it was—that they didn’t understand what was wrong with trying to kill Iwaizumi.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Daichi said, interrupting the staring contest Kuroo had gotten into with them. “If we want to get out of here, we need to do it now. Oikawa will come after us, but if he’s busy taking care of Iwaizumi…”

“No,” Hinata—the creature—answered forcefully.

“No?” Tobio blinked. It was the first time he’d found his voice since Hinata had gotten back. “What do you mean ‘no’? We need to leave. At the very least, _you_ guys need to leave. I…we already agreed that I’m staying here, but Oikawa might change his mind about letting you leave unharmed after what just happened.”

“Oikawa isn’t going to let us leave,” Daichi said. “We might as well take you with us.”

“Karasuno will have to spend the rest of its life running from—“

“We know that already. And we’re well aware, Kageyama.” Daichi offered him a smile. It was small and horribly underwhelming in the face of everything else.

“No,” Hinata said again.

All heads swiveled to him. Tobio felt Shimizu’s attention shift to their group as she sat with Iwaizumi, who was still gasping for breaths. He seemed to be slipping in and out of unconsciousness. Would he die before they even made up their mind? Would they spend Iwaizumi’s last moments arguing over what to do?

“No—we can’t leave—we made a promise,” Hinata said. The choppiness had returned, and his eloquence disappeared with it. The otherworldly aura stayed, though, and with every passing moment Tobio felt more and more like he was walking through a minefield with this version of Hinata.

“A promise?” Kuroo frowned at him. “You mean when you both told Oikawa you would try to cure him.”

Hinata nodded.

“Cure him of something that has been _confirmed_ incurable?”

Another nod, ignoring the incredulous tone Kuroo had adopted. “Kenma, Hinata—we can’t afford to save him. What about Kageyama?”

“If we save Oikawa, there won’t be a reason for him to keep Kageyama here, and then we can all go.”

“And you genuinely believe that he’s gonna follow up with that promise? Because he’s been all that trustworthy so far, right.” Kuroo gestured to Hinata frantically, as if the faster he moved his hands the more chance Hinata—Kenma—had of listening to him. “Look at what he’s already lied about! He said he wouldn’t hurt either of you, and yet you’re—you’re—like _this_!”

“It’s not that bad,” Hinata said. “We don’t mind so much.”

“If you’re going to decide on anything, you need to decide now,” Daichi interrupted them. He gestured to the other side of the room.

Iwaizumi’s head was propped up in Oikawa’s lap, Sugawara and Shimizu bent over his body with their eyes closed and lips moving silently, holding the gems hanging from their necks. They were trying to heal him using magic, Tobio realized. They were going to try to help Iwaizumi, even knowing he was their enemy.

Matsukawa had woken up finally. He was sitting with them, looking out of it but still conscious.

It was Oikawa that got Tobio. He was staring down at Iwaizumi’s face, his own vulnerable and open. He chewed his bottom lip in between saying things to Shimizu and Sugawara, most involving _is there anything I can do?_ and _is he going to be okay?_

He turned that vulnerable expression towards Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi’s eyes were open but just barely, his eyelids drooping like the petals of a dying flower. Tobio sucked in a breath from the other side of the room.

“Stay awake,” Oikawa said to him. “Stay awake with me, okay? You’re going to be fine. The wounds—they’re not that deep. You’ve had worse. You’re not going to die here, not before me, not like this…”

Tobio had only seen Iwaizumi use his powers one other time before tonight: once, when Oikawa begged and begged and begged him to demonstrate. The two of them knew what Iwaizumi’s powers were supposed to be because they had watched his parents defending their home and Aoba Johsai, but they had never seen Iwaizumi use them himself. At first he said it was because they didn’t _need_ to see it. Then he admitted it was because he didn’t like using them if he could help it.

“I don’t…have it all the way under control,” he’d admitted. Tobio had been surprised by this. Back then, he thought that Iwaizumi and Tooru were what everyone should’ve striven to be. They were brave and smart and powerful, crowned princes of nothing and everything. To hear that one of them had struggled with learning something was a shock.

“You’re never going to get better at it if you don’t try, though!” Tooru had insisted, pouting at Iwaizumi as if that would further his point. “C’mooon, Iwa-chan, just this once? I’ll never bother you again if you show me this time, I promise!”

The offer of Tooru’s silence had apparently been enticing enough to get Iwaizumi to pause. “…Never again?”

“Never again,” Tooru agreed, nodding solemnly. Tobio was watching this exchange unfold from the porch deck that led out into their great, gaping backyard, leading into forest that stretched uninterrupted for miles. They played outside in the summer, Tobio alone with sticks as he drew pictures in the dirt, Iwaizumi and Tooru together. But instead of drawing or playing with sticks, they mostly laughed and talked about their parents or Aoba Johsai or the movies they wanted to watch. Tooru liked listening to them when he could get away with it.

“Fine,” Iwaizumi relented. “But only once! And then you can’t ask me again, you got it?”

Tooru mimed zipping his lips shut and stood with his back straight, arms crossed behind him as he waited eagerly. From the corner of his eye, Tobio saw Iwaizumi hold out his right hand, which was clenched tightly into a fist.

“Watch closely,” he whispered.

Slowly, he unclenched his fist, letting the muscles relax into a half-circle and then flat. As he moved, the ground underneath him sprouted what Tobio thought looked like the roots of a vegetable, small and flimsy at first, then stronger and burlier. The plant grew and grew, further and higher until it towered over the two of them—granted, a feat easy to accomplish with Tooru and Iwaizumi’s thirteen-year-old height—and blossomed into a sunflower.

Tooru stared, awestricken at the miracle in front of him, and Tobio felt quite the same. Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck as if embarrassed, clenching his fist again and forcing the plant back under the earth. Before it could disappear, Tooru ripped the flower from its stem and cradled it in his hands to protect it, as if he had not just committed an act of violence by tearing it away. He had kept that flower for weeks after, placing it softly on the surface of a bowl of water, letting it float there to keep it alive. Over time, it grew brown as it wilted, crumpling and then disappearing completely.

Iwaizumi looked like that now: crumpled and wilted, as if soon he would disappear completely too.

Tobio felt sick.

Oikawa looked up, and his eyes met Tobio’s. He didn’t look angry, and somehow that made it worse. Shouldn’t he be screaming at them right now? Maybe the curse really had taken that much out of him. If it were the Oikawa that Tobio heard stories about, the Oikawa that everyone feared, he wouldn’t have hesitated before trying to kill them. He wouldn’t have let Suga or Shimizu come anywhere close to Iwaizumi, wouldn’t have let them stand around debating escaping. And yet, Sugawara was pressing a strip of cloth to Iwaizumi’s neck, torn from Oikawa’s shirt, speaking quietly to Oikawa as if to comfort him. Oikawa didn’t seem to be paying attention to the words. Instead, he stayed looking at Tobio.

What was he trying to say? Trying to get across? Tobio couldn’t tell, and it made him feel even sicker knowing that he couldn’t tell. He turned away hurriedly.

“You’re okay with being here?” he asked Hinata.

Hinata blinked at him. It wasn’t vacant; there was somebody there, somebody behind those eyes. It was just somebody that Tobio had never met. “Yes,” he said. “Are you saying we should stay to help him?”

“I don’t know what it would hurt.”

Kuroo took a step toward them. “Kageyama, you know what it would hurt.”

“To be fair,” Daichi said, “we’ve seen what Hinata and Kenma can do. If Oikawa tried to hurt them, or tried to hurt Kageyama, I’m not sure they’d let him.”

Yes, that was right—they’d done this to Iwaizumi, taken his own magic and used it against him. Tobio had never seen someone hijack another monster’s power. They had just started controlling the ivy like it was nothing, like they’d been controlling it all along and only let Iwaizumi think he was doing it. Tobio hadn’t realized that was even possible.

Kuroo looked like he wanted to argue more. Tobio understood why he was so wary, why he was so terrified of something going wrong—Tobio was in the same boat, so he understood, he _did._ But he also understood that Hinata wasn’t going to back out of a promise, and that Hinata—even when it was this morphed version of Hinata—wouldn’t let someone die if he could save them.

“We’ll be fine,” Hinata said, but it sounded more like Kenma then, and the softness in his expression when he placed a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder only served as further evidence. “Nothing bad is going to happen to us. We’re going home alive tonight.”

Kuroo’s face crumpled for a brief second—then he got it back under control. He nodded slowly, brushing the hand off his shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Go ahead and try to save him. But I get to say I told you so if he doesn’t hold up his end of the bargain, alright?”

“If we end up running for our lives, sure,” Kenma agreed.

 

\--

 

When Kenma was a kid, he didn’t care much about magic.

Kuroo’s parents trained him along with their son as the two grew up. They treated Kenma like their own child, raising him with Kuroo, and the education was part of the unstated deal. But since it was homeschooling, Kenma was good at finding ways to get out of it. It wasn’t that he _didn’t_ like doing magic or learning about his history and culture—it was just that he didn’t particular _like_ doing it either, and most of the time, it was only boring to him. He preferred playing outside or being alone or watching movies with Kuroo instead of sitting at the kitchen table with books about charms and a fat agenda for the day as Kuroo’s father tried to explain the different categories of luck charms, how they worked, when they worked best, who they worked best on, when they wore off…It was too much information and not interesting enough.

He didn’t use magic much outside of when he absolutely had to. Maybe it would’ve made his life more convenient to use magic for everyday things like doing laundry or the dishes or brushing his teeth or tying his shoes. But the amount of energy it took to cast the spells was much more than it took just to do the tasks himself. He wasn’t a natural like Kuroo was. Magic didn’t come easy to him, and being reminded that it didn’t come easy, that he wasn’t as good of a witch as Kuroo or his surrogate parents or the other witches in their neighborhood, didn’t make him feel any better. He would’ve preferred to forget about that part of himself, to discard that identity and that power that he never quite felt like he’d tapped into. The only part he ever liked was the potion making, and even that he was mediocre at—so he neglected spell casting, neglected magic, and tried to worm his way out of performing it when he had the chance. He had no special talents, and therefore no motivation to learn.

After Kuroo’s parents passed, he stopped his education completely. Kuroo continued his studies quietly, Kenma knew, getting lessons from some of Bokuto’s friends when he needed them and teaching himself when he had free time. But he didn’t force Kenma to participate, and they were so busy trying to stay alive that it hardly seemed necessary to continue Kenma’s education.

There had been one point in time, though, when he felt connected to that part of himself— _really_ connected. The night of his death, as he and Kuroo were trying out that spell to bring his parents back even if only for a moment—he had practiced for months, then, to get that spell right. It was the only time he had ever voluntarily learned a spell, had ever put hours into learning to cast it just right, had ever wanted to perform it correctly so _badly_. He knew he wasn’t a great witch; he wasn’t even a good one. But Kuroo wanted this, and he wanted this, and he was going to make it happen if it could, even if it was stupid and dangerous and not something they needed to get involved in.

They never got to finish it. That group of vampires—their karma, maybe, for trying to perform something so stupid, so reckless and unethical and sketchy. Kuroo later admitted that he thought it was punishment for the work he’d done with Bokuto and Akaashi, or maybe punishment for not protecting Kenma well enough, or for letting his parents die. He said that he thought it was punishment for anything, everything, every sin he’d committed in his life, every wrong thought. _Did you pay for me?_ he asked to what he thought was no one those nights at Karasuno’s farmhouse, when Kenma was away from Hinata’s body and only sitting in Kuroo’s room, wanting nothing more than to be able to respond, to let Kuroo know he was there. _Did you pay for my sins?_

But those months spent practicing—those nights staying up with Kuroo, whispering the words to themselves in the dark of their apartment, not quite pronouncing anything for fear of casting something they weren’t ready for—those weeks hunched over the boxes used for a coffee table in their living room, heads bumping together as they read through an old, withered book on black magic Kuroo managed to buy off an underground seller that Akaashi had told him about—those moments spent imagining what could come of it, what they were working towards—they were the closest he ever felt to his heritage. To his magic. To that part of himself labelled “witch.”

This, though. This was on another level.

Maybe it was because he had forgotten what magic felt like while he was dead. Or maybe it was because this was something more than the witch side of him—maybe it was because it was some part of Hinata and that untapped seer part of him that made all of this that much more heightened. Whatever it was, it was a hundred times stronger than anything he’d ever felt when he was alive, anything he’d ever dreamed about feeling.

The world felt…smaller, somehow. Like it had been shrinking for the past few hours, only small enough now to show the difference. Or maybe they had just been getting bigger. Not physically but—bigger, somehow. It was hard to tell.

Their hands— _their_ hands—tingled, but not with that fire, not with the need to shift or the desire to escape. Only with energy, that energy that Yamaguchi had talked about what felt like years ago, that difference between seers and witches— _in-between_ , he had said. They were rare, a mystery to the rest of the monster community, future-telling and magic-wielding creatures, so full of energy. The gray area within that branch of monsters. But they didn’t feel like a gray area; they felt…like more. Yamaguchi’s explanation had only been the surface of it, and so didn’t touch anything about _this_.

This—had they always been able to manipulate everything around them so easily? The plants had been the first thing to move—taken over by—a want for someone to suffer. A malicious intent. Plants were easily corrupted, easily manipulated. They were only clusters of cells. The lack of a soul, that was what made them easiest to control. At the time, with Iwaizumi out of his element and Oikawa busy, that had been the best plan of action to take over.

But people—even people felt malleable, easy to control. They felt the heartbeat of every person in the room: Iwaizumi’s, slowing down, Oikawa’s heightened by fear and anxiety. Kuroo’s and Daichi’s were steady, steady, steady; they were used to this. Shimizu was good at hiding her anxiety. Sugawara didn’t pretend not to be scared, but he was too busy tending to Iwaizumi with Shimizu to let it show. Kageyama wasn’t pretending at all to be calm.

Heartbeats and skin. There was that energy again, underneath everything like dirt under their nails. If they reached out, only a little bit more, they could dip their hands into the nearest person’s body, dig down inside them and mold them like clay. Maybe it was the soul that called to them, but it was the flesh and bones that screamed the loudest. They were acutely aware of the blood in everyone’s veins, the muscle hiding under their flesh, the lungs expanding and deflating and expanding again, the bones permanently smiling behind their mouths. Every joint and blood cell—they could feel it.

No, no, people had not always felt this easy to control, this easy to shape. It wouldn’t be difficult at all to just—no. No. They had something to do. They couldn’t mess with that, even if the flesh kept screaming for their attention. They moved, one foot in front of the other, letting their muscles take them.

Oikawa startled. He shifted back, moving Iwaizumi slightly in his lap as if to retreat with him, to shield him, and Shimizu chastised him softly for jarring Iwaizumi. Matsukawa got to his feet unsteadily but still took a fighting stance in front of them. They wondered if he was another bodyguard. Would he have hurt them too?

“Stop,” he said, voice deceptively even. They could feel his heartrate going up: _badum, badum, badum, badum…_ quicker and quicker the longer they stood, only staring right back at him. He was a pure-blood witch, they could feel. Both his parents were too. He came from a long line of witches and nothing but witches, only a few memorable ones in his family tree, himself not included on that list. To join up with Aoba Johsai, he must have gotten himself into quite a situation, or else he had been incredibly desperate for adventure. Oikawa seemed to have taken a liking to him, though.

One beat, two beat, three beats, silence. Matsukawa had regained the rhythm of his body, and no longer swayed on his feet, instead standing solidly in front of them. Unarmed, physically weak, but refusing to relent.

“We’re helping Oikawa,” they said. Talking was getting weird. Half the explanation didn’t make it out of their mouth: _we promised to help him, we’re going to cure him, don’t you want him to be cured? Step away, we’re not going to hurt him, you don’t have to stand like that, it’s fine, we have something to lose too…_

Maybe it got through to him somehow. They didn’t know, but Matsukawa only nodded after that, and he moved, kneeling on the ground on the other side of Iwaizumi and leaving them room to get to Oikawa.

They knelt. Oikawa glanced at them.

“You’re going to try again? What good would a second go do us? Do you?” He punctuated it with a laugh, and they saw the way it was forced out of his throat, pushed out of his mouth against its will. “I’ll warn you that I’m not going to let you all escape that easily, but if you were smart, you would at least try. There’s no point in trying to fulfill a promise that’s impossible to keep.”

“Not impossible,” they said. _Difficult. But we’re different now. Don’t you feel that? That’s us. That’s us—that energy, that emotion, that’s coming from us. You did this to us, did you know that? Your own cruelty might save you._

“Huh,” he said. The response, spoken out loud, sounded jarring and almost vulgar to their ears after only thinking everything else for so long. “You’re sure of yourself.”

_We’re sure of ourself._

Oikawa stayed quiet for a long moment. He looked down at Iwaizumi’s head in his lap, the spirit’s eyes closed and chest rising and falling, slowly… _Badum… Badum… Badum…_ There was a beat there, but a slow one. Iwaizumi would not die today; they knew he wouldn’t die. Not from wounds so easily healed, from a group of inexperienced circus performers, and not after everything else that Iwaizumi had no doubt gone through. Oikawa wouldn’t _let_ him die by something as stupid as letting his own plants get out of control.

Still, it was enough to scare Oikawa into the closest stance of submission he’d maybe ever shown.

He asked, finally, softly:

“Have you ever met a god, Kenma? Hinata?”

Had they ever met a god? No, that wasn’t something they could say they’d done. Shouyou had stayed away from monsters for the first fifteen years of his life, and unless Kuroo knew some, Kenma had never had a reason to interact. Gods kept to themselves, the same with demigods. The chances of meeting one were small.

“No,” they said. “Why?”

“I have. And this is what it feels like.”

“This?”

“Gods are loud. They carry an aura stronger than anyone else’s, strong enough for even humans to feel. They’re better and stronger than everyone else and they know it, and everyone else knows it, and if you don’t, they don’t hesitate to tell you. If you ever meet a god, you’ll know the moment they walk in the room who they are and what they want from you.”

Matsukawa, Sugawara, and Shimizu were watching them quietly, listening to Oikawa speak. In his lap, Iwaizumi’s eyes fluttered opened, and he blinked at the ceiling before letting out a harsh breath. Oikawa, brushing hair away from Iwaizumi’s forehead, continued quietly:

“I don’t know what I did to you. All that mattered at the time was keeping Kenma contained, but whatever the injection did, you’re changed because of it. That is what it feels like to be with you right now. Neither of you would happen to be secretly part god, would you?”

It was a joke, but they still shook their head in answer. Oikawa let Iwaizumi slide from his lap gently, making sure he wouldn’t bump his head on the floor, and stood up. Iwaizumi made a noise like a groan in protest, but Oikawa ignored him. Matsukawa took Oikawa’s place with Iwaizumi.

“Alright, Kenma, Hinata,” Oikawa said, holding his shoulders back despite his clear fatigue. “You get a second try, and if you succeed by some miracle, I’ll let Kageyama leave with you. But I should warn you that I don’t bow to anyone.” He levelled them with a stare, smiling almost mockingly. “Even gods.”

They nodded. “We understand.”

“Then unless there’s anything you need me to do, you can get to it.” He stood at his full height, towering a good twenty centimeters over them with his hands on his hips as if in defiance.

Still, he looked tired, and they could tell that he was running out of energy. At the safe house, he had admitted to feeling sick, fatigued more easily and more often, susceptible to fainting and no longer as agile or strong as he used to be. They could see this now, his heartrate up even as he concealed heavy breathing. _Badum, badum, badum, badum, badum._

While everyone else’s muscles and flesh had reached out the loudest, Oikawa’s soul screamed louder at them, as if inviting them to dip their hands into it and rip out the parasite that had plagued it for years now. A curse, Oikawa had said, eating away at his life source. It was easy, then, to allow themself to give into the desire to shape him. Their body hummed with energy; the walls melted away; the mansion disappeared completely, the background faces of Kageyama and Shimizu and everyone else faded into nothing until it was only them, and Oikawa, and that humming, humming, humming.

The urge to dip into his soul grew and grew. And when they finally allowed themself to dip under and skim the surface of his soul, it was chipped away, battered, and still taking a beating. Slow and melodious, but still a beating. It was not the work of an outburst or the heat of the moment, but of a heavy, long-grown rage, a need for revenge that had festered and calcified for years. The witch that did this to him, they thought again, must have been incredibly powerful—or at the very least consumed with vengeance—to achieve something like this.

_Badum, badum, badum, badum, badum_.

Their body tingled with that fire, that energy. They reached further, skimming for the curse, fingers bumping over the edges of things Oikawa had likely never touched, filing through every sin that had clung itself to him, attached itself to his psyche and never since let go. The list was extensive, overwhelming, forcing that energy to retreat—no, no, they needed to continue. Where was it? Where was it? They needed to find it.

They pushed forward. Where was it? Closer, they felt. Some father’s deep voice boomed in the space behind Oikawa’s sins, but this was warm, loving—not the sound of Oikawa’s adopted father, who clashed unceremoniously with the rest of him. That parasite, where was it? Those voices spoke over each other. Where was it? Where was it? His adopted mother was here too, her love for him burning quietly behind the echoes of her husband’s abuse. Closer, closer. Where was it? They needed to extricate it. Could they rip it out when they found it? Tear the parasite away from Oikawa’s soul like ripping off a band aid? Or would it leave behind something they couldn’t replace?

Oh.

There it was.

In the real world, Oikawa’s body went limp and collapsed to the floor.

 

\--

 

Miles away, Tsukishima Kei sucked in a breath.

 

\--

 

I don’t want to die.

You don’t?

No.

That’s not true. You’re okay with dying. You have to be. You’re okay with death; you’ve become quite acquainted with it. You’ve always walked the line between living and dying. Don’t you wonder if you’re ever living at all? No, dying—that’s not what you’re scared of.

Then what am I scared of?

Dying alone. But you’re not alone. It’s an irrational fear. You won’t die alone; you’ll die with every person’s life you took too soon. No, you won’t be alone. When your soul disappears, it’ll be weighted down, drowning under the burden of your own choices. Whose life do you think will weigh the most? Your dad’s?

It wasn’t a choice. None of it—it wasn’t a choice. I didn’t want to kill him. He made me kill him. He made me do it.

There’s always a choice.

Stop it. That’s not true. You know it’s not true. You didn’t make the choice to die yourself, did you? Kenma? When you saved Kuroo. That wasn’t a choice. You were cornered. There was nothing left to do.

The choice was between dying myself or letting Kuroo die. It’s not much of a choice, but I could have chosen differently. Just because the other option is worse doesn’t mean you don’t choose. I’m not saying it’s fair. I’m saying you have to live with it, and die with it.

That’s worse than dying alone.

Maybe. But you don’t have to worry about that yet. You’re living with your sins a little bit longer, Oikawa Tooru. You won’t get to hand your burden off to someone else; you’ll have to face your own decisions. Would you rather die right now than do that? You still have the choice.

 

\--

 

“Is he—?”

“No. He’s still breathing. I think Hinata—Kenma is doing something. There’s nothing we can do for them now. We just have to wait and see what happens.”

 

\--

 

If I choose living a little bit longer, will the lives get any lighter? Will they still weigh me down when my time actually comes?

 

\--

 

“Please wake up, please be okay, please, please, please…”

 

\--

 

I don’t know. I can’t answer that for certain. But if you die now, there’s no doubt that they’ll drag you down. Die like Atlas now or wait it out and see if you can repent—those are your choices. Do you want to keep running?

How much time do I have to decide?

I don’t know, but I don’t think your physical body can stand being like this for much longer. You have to choose now.

 

\--

 

“His heartrate is slowing down. Quick, someone—help me get them up. We don’t know what happens after this. They might both need medical attention. We need to be ready if they do.”

“And if they both—?”

“They’re going to be fine. Both of them.”

 

\--

 

I don’t want to die.

Alone?

Alone, or now. Not yet.

 

\--

 

The thread keeping Hinata Shouyou and Kozume Kenma together snapped open. No, that wasn’t quite right—it didn’t snap. It unraveled.

 

\--

 

I’m not letting go. Not yet.

 

\--

 

“Wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, we love and appreciate any and all feedback (especially when we have 1 (one) chapter left)


	20. it's our hearts that make the beat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> \--
> 
> 1\. ent.  
> 2\. separation(x2 (but only one !!)) a longue hina,,, and sore.. (deg face)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we may or may not have cried multiple times over this fic coming to an end. and did u notice its coc's one year anniversary today??? we've come full circle 
> 
> this was originally just gonna be named "epilogue" but then the chapter ended up being 10k bc we did Not realize just how much we had left to wrap up so.... long ending chapter, here u go
> 
> 我们终于完成了这个神话故事。谢谢你这么多的阅读这个巨大的怪物。*  
> merci beaucoup pour votre temps. **nous vous adorons tous :’) et nous mourrions pour vous tous (probablement avec une balle)
> 
> (*translator’s note: read “great” as “hugeass”)  
> (**another translator’s note: dont interpret this as formal as it reads in google translate we r being Cool and Hip we promise)
> 
> more sappy things at the end note but without further adieu, heres the last chap!!! [crying emojix200]

It was dark.

Outside the windows, the sky was pitch black, the room void of any light. When his eyes adjusted, Hinata Shouyou could just barely make out the form of someone sitting in a chair next to his bed, sitting up straight but clearly asleep.

“Where…?” His body screamed in protest when he tried to sit up, his voice hoarse and grating even to his own ears. He laid back down with a groan, cursing himself in his head for moving so suddenly. The body shifted.

“Hinata…? You’re awake!” Kageyama, now fully awake, sat up hurriedly and hit his knee on the bedframe on the way. He cursed loudly, and when Shouyou laughed, it felt like the first time in years. The noise scraped against his sore throat, sounding hoarse and barely there, but still a laugh.

Shouyou sat up again, slower this time, and found that it didn’t hurt quite as much. He started to get up, but Kageyama stood in the way, leading him by the shoulders back on the bed. “No, just—stay put, I need to get Daichi and tell him you’re awake. Don’t hurt yourself while I’m gone.”

“I’m not gonna hurt myself,” Shouyou huffed.

Kageyama gave him a look.

He relented. “Fine. I won’t move.”

“Good. I’ll be right back.”

With his eyes adjusted, Shouyou could see his boyfriend’s retreating back, the door closing behind him.

Shouyou’s head hurt. It had hurt before he and Kenma had done…whatever it was that they did, but it hurt even worse now, throbbing in the back of his skull like someone was steadily hammering nails into his cranium. His limbs protested any movement he made, too—a bad combination for Shouyou and all his energy.

Now alone, he took the time to take in his surroundings. The room wasn’t familiar, but he was definitely…somewhere, in someone’s bed. The window looking outside was large and entirely unhelpful. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was…

Kenma and Oikawa. Where were they? Why wasn’t he with Kenma? Was—was it like before, the thing Oikawa had done? And Oikawa—had he—Iwaizumi—

The door opened quietly, and Daichi slipped in, Kageyama following behind anxiously. Daichi smiled at Shouyou, that paternal, comforting smile that he only reserved for careful situations. Shouyou’s stomach dropped. He would’ve leaped out of bed to meet them if not for how badly he still hurt.

“Daichi? Where is everyone? And Kenma—why can’t I see him? What’s going on? And where are we?” he demanded, rapid-fire.

“One question at a time,” Daichi said, holding his hands in the air. He sat in the chair that Kageyama had previously occupied, but he still had that smile. “Everyone is…fine. You’ll be able to see them in a little while. But before any of that, how are you feeling?”

“Like I just got hit by a truck,” Shouyou admitted.

Daichi laughed. “Yeah, I can imagine that. You weren’t in very good shape when you, uh…returned to yourself.”

He and Kageyama fell silent after that. Kageyama was standing behind Daichi’s chair, his arms crossed over his chest but his shoulders drooping, eyes glued to the floor. Shouyou looked between the two of them, waiting for someone to say something.

When neither of them did, he asked hesitantly, “Daichi-san, what really happened…with me and Kenma?”

Daichi stiffened. Both he and Kageyama seemed to sit as still as possible. Gingerly, he asked, “You don’t remember?”

“I remember some of it. Most of it.” Shouyou paused. “At least, I think I do. It gets…blurry after a while.”

Part of him wasn’t sure that he _wanted_ to know. What could he have done to make the two of them freeze up and avoid eye contact? To end up in this much pain, with people dotting over his health?

Daichi sighed. “You and Kenma…it seemed like Kenma was possessing you, but not…entirely. Like your souls had…”

“Merged?” Shouyou offered.

“Something like that. But you weren’t acting like either of you. You were…”

“Frightening,” Kageyama said.

Shouyou looked down. “I didn’t mean to scare anybody.”

“We know you didn’t.” Daichi offered him that smile again. Maybe that smile wasn’t for some bad news of others’ health, but of Shouyou’s. “You kept insisting that we couldn’t leave with Kageyama and that you had to heal Oikawa. And you—do you remember, with Iwaizumi…?”

“You mean me strangling him.”

Shouyou said it as nonchalantly as he could manage, but somewhere, he felt sick. Knowing that he had done that. Knowing that he had been conscious when doing that, that some part of him had _wanted_ to…to hurt Oikawa like that. It had never been about Iwaizumi, and knowing that only made him feel sicker.

Kageyama and Daichi looked to be in the same condition. Both of them were still looking away, their faces solemn.

“Hinata,” Daichi said, “don’t beat yourself up about it. It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t…neither of you were in control of your actions. We all know that. Iwaizumi isn’t angry about it.”

“Iwaizumi is okay?”

“He’s a little shaken up and he’ll need time to heal, but he’ll be fine. No lasting damage.”

Shouyou exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. It hadn’t even been Iwaizumi that he had first thought of when waking up, but he didn’t know what he would do if he had really succeeded in…killing Iwaizumi. Or permanently damaging him.

“Like I said, everyone is fine. It won’t do you any good to stay focused on what happened when you weren’t in control. We all know that hurting was never your intention. Neither was it Kenma’s.”

But that wasn’t true. _I wanted to hurt him_ , Shouyou thought desperately. _At the time, I really, really wanted to hurt him. And so did Kenma. I know he did_.

He didn’t say that, though. He only nodded while Daichi stood, pushing the chair back and starting towards the door.

“I’ll go talk to the others, let them know that you’re awake and stable,” he said. “Take care of him for the time being, Kageyama?”

Kageyama nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll leave you two alone then.”

The door shut behind him. Kageyama reclaimed his seat and hung his head, burying his face in his hands.

Shouyou blinked. There was that stomach-dropping dread again. “Tobio…? Did I really scare you that bad?”

Kageyama didn’t respond for a moment. That was all it took for Shouyou’s imagination to run away with itself and let the panic build.

“I’m—I’m really…it’s dumb to say I’m sorry because you already know that, but I’m really, really sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you guys. I didn’t mean to hurt…” He couldn’t finish the rest of that sentence. It was too big of a lie. “I didn’t really know what I was doing, right?”

“Shut up,” Kageyama said.

Shouyou felt his eyes prickle with tears. “Please, don’t be angry with me…”

“Shut up. I’m not—I’m not _angry_ with you, I’m…” There was a loud, shaky intake of breath. Shouyou knew that meant Kageyama was trying hard not to cry. He took his head out of his hands, and Shouyou had just enough time to notice that he didn’t look angry before he was being enveloped in a hug.

“Dumbass,” Kageyama mumbled. “I’m not _angry_ with you. I’m…glad. That you’re alive. We really weren’t sure for a while there…”

“Tobio.” Shouyou wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, reciprocating the hug. “How long was I out for?”

The arms around Shouyou tightened. “A few days. We weren’t sure that you were going to…that _any_ of you were going to wake up…”

“A few days,” Shouyou repeated. He felt Kageyama nod, then a kiss being pressed to his cheek before Kageyama pulled back. They let go, but Shouyou made sure their hands were still touching.

“Where is everybody else?” Shouyou asked. The same part of him that had felt sick knowing what he did to Iwaizumi felt sick now, scared of knowing. Daichi had said they were okay, but that didn’t mean people weren’t hurt. It was Shouyou’s fault, too. How could he face them, even if they were going to live, even if they had been healed?

No. No, that wasn’t right. Shouyou still needed to _know_ , even if every part of him burned with guilt. He needed to see everyone.

“Shimizu went back to Karasuno to help keep things under control there. We tried to get Kuroo to go too, but he’s…”

“Stubborn.” _About Kenma_.

Kageyama shrugged. “I guess. Suga’s been playing nurse with Matsukawa and a few of Iwaizumi’s colleagues. Once Daichi gets back—“

“Take me to see them.”

He frowned. “You’re still hurt.”

Shouyou waved the concern off. “I’ll be fine! I already feel better than when I’d just woke up. And if you’re really that concerned, you can always carry me there yourself.”

“I’m _not_ going to—“ Kageyama stopped, seeing Shouyou’s grin. His face was pink. “You’re horrible.”

“You still like me.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, still tinted pink. He stood up from the chair, pushing it out of the way and holding his hands out to Shouyou. When Shouyou only blinked at him, he gestured to move. “C’mon, you’re the one that wants to go so badly.”

Shouyou perked up, immediately throwing the sheets off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The moment he stood up, though, he felt light-headed, and he had to lean against Kageyama to keep from falling over. He closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning, his hands on Kageyama’s shoulders while he regained composure.

“What did I say about you still being hurt?” Kageyama chastised.

“Carry me, then.”

There was a pause. Kageyama’s hands slid from Shouyou’s shoulders down his arms as if to lead him back to the bed again. “We should just wait for when you feel better, almost everyone can come to you anyway, so there’s no reason to push yourself like this—“

“Tobio.” Shouyou opened his eyes. The room had stopped spinning finally, though he didn’t feel much better; he moved Kageyama’s hands back up to his shoulders again. “Please. I need to make sure that everyone’s...”

“Daichi already told you how everyone is,” Kageyama said. Despite the insistence, he spoke softly, like he was losing out to Shouyou’s demand.

“I need to _see_ them,” Shouyou insisted.

Another pause. For a second, Shouyou thought that Kageyama wasn’t going to give in and instead make him wait until he was better recovered before leaving the room. But Kageyama only sighed heavily, letting his hands fall away from Shouyou’s shoulders and turning around. He bent down slightly, putting his arms out, and Shouyou beamed.

Jumping hurt; pain shot through his whole body as he moved, but Shouyou ground his teeth and tried not to think about it, wrapping his arms around Kageyama’s neck to keep from falling off. Kageyama jostled him around for a moment to make sure he had a good grip before starting towards the door. Shouyou had to duck as they went under.

“You know, I really didn’t think you’d give into giving me a piggyback ride that easily,” Shouyou admitted. Kageyama snorted from ahead of him.

“It’s only because I’ve missed you,” he said. Even though he’d admitted it earlier, and even though Shouyou would’ve known Kageyama missed him without being told, hearing it said out loud so casually made his chest feel warm. It dispelled the sick feeling if only for a moment.

“I’m sorry.” Shouyou’s arms tightened just slightly around Kageyama. “That I made you worry, and that I scared you. And that I made you miss me.”

“That’s not something to apologize for, stupid. Of course I would worry and miss you and be scared for you. That’s sort of in the…” He faltered, and even without seeing it Shouyou knew he was blushing. “You know, the contract of being in a relationship.”

It was odd to think that their relationship was still so new, fresh enough for Kageyama to still be flustered when admitting they were dating. Maybe it was only because the past few days—well, the days before Shouyou passed out—had felt like eternities. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. It was hard to think that them becoming boyfriends was still _new_.

“I guess you’re right,” Shouyou agreed. “Still, I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

They didn’t talk after that. Kageyama carried him down a long hallway, passing what felt like a hundred different rooms before he came to an end. The hallway branched off to the right and left into two _more_ hallways, and when Shouyou glanced down them he saw they were almost identical to the one they’d just gone through. Kageyama took a right without faltering.

“How do you know we’re going the right way?” Shouyou asked. “I mean, everything looks the exact same to me. I’d get lost.”

“I lived here for most of my life. There’s a lot of trial and error but you figure it out.”

Shouyou paused. “Wait.”

“What?” Kageyama glanced back at him.

“Does that mean—you guys have been staying at Oikawa’s place the entire time I was out?”

“Yeah? We couldn’t just leave you here.”

“No, I know, just—“ He frowned. “I just hadn’t realized that’s where we are. You could’ve taken me back to Karasuno to heal me. I don’t…you had to stay with Oikawa for that long…”

“You were in pretty bad condition at first,” Kageyama admitted. He kept his head forward, and Shouyou couldn’t see his expression. “There wasn’t a way to safely transport you without risk of making it worse. And Oikawa has more members here that are trained for heavy duty healing like this than we do.”

Shouyou knew that made sense, and that it was probably for the best for his sake. And if it had been Kageyama who was hurt, he would’ve done the same thing—but even still…

“Stop worrying about it,” Kageyama said. “I’m fine. It wasn’t as bad as you’re imagining.”

“I’m not _imagining_ anything,” Shouyou huffed.

Kageyama didn’t dignify that with a response, coming to a stop in front of a door at the end of the hallway. His grip on Shouyou’s legs loosened, and Shouyou took that as his cue to slide down. His head didn’t spin this time, but he still held on to Kageyama’s arm gently.

Shouyou’s heart beat loudly in his chest, loud enough that he was scared Kageyama might hear it. Kageyama pushed the door open, leading him into the room.

The first thing Shouyou’s eyes landed on was the empty bed in the middle of the room, similar to the one he’d been lying in as a makeshift hospital bed. The sheets were wrinkled and a blanket was draped at the foot of the bed like someone had only recently abandoned it. The second thing he saw was Kenma.

He was standing near the far wall next to Sugawara, his arms crossed over his chest loosely as he listened to Suga explain something. He looked—less washed out. More _there_ than Shouyou could ever remember seeing him, his skin flushed, almost pink, and when he turned toward the door, his eyes were gold—but not ghostly, ethereally gold.

“Hinata, you’re awake!” Sugawara was saying to him, but Shouyou was too busy gaping to respond. Kenma was there. Kenma was okay. Kenma was—

“You’re…” That was his voice. Mouth moving without his permission. “Kenma, you’re—are you—“

He broke into a run. In a moment, he was hugging Kenma tighter than he had ever hugged someone, and Kenma was _warm_.

“I’m here,” Kenma said into his shoulder, clutching him back with real, _there_ hands, just as desperate as Shouyou. “I’m alive.”

 

\--

 

It was Iwaizumi that explained it. The injection Shouyou had been given upon their arrival was meant to keep the two in one headspace, one body. While Kenma had always been tied to Shouyou, and while he was able to possess Shouyou at will, a body with two minds in one would eventually crack under the strain. Iwaizumi couldn’t explain why their consciousness combined the way that they did instead of destroying both of their minds as would have normally been the case, but he chalked it up to something bigger than any of them currently knew.

“Hinata’s a shapeshifter,” Daichi added. “I doubt anyone could have known what would happen when that wild card is thrown in the mix.”

After they had succeeded in expelling Oikawa’s curse, it “used too much of them up.” That was how Iwaizumi described it—as using them up, the energy it took to extract that magic from Oikawa’s body too much for them to handle. They fell apart, into two separate bodies and minds again, but with something taken away.

“You can’t experience something like that and come out the same person,” he said. Kenma’s change had been the most obvious: he was corporal. He had a body, his own, his real one back. No one was sure if it was a permanent thing, if maybe there were side effects or weird anomalies that a change as big as this would bring. None of them had ever seen a ghost come back from the dead. No one had known it possible. But as far as they had seen, and from what information they _had_ been able to find in the past few days, Kenma would be able to live a normal life—as normal as it could get, at least.

Shouyou was different, Oikawa explained. Nothing had visibly changed about him, but they knew the chances of him coming out without _any_ changes were slim to none. They gathered help from some of Oikawa’s more trusted members and set about trying to figure out what had changed, if anything.

So far, they hadn’t figured anything out. It could take months before they came up with anything.

“But I think it might be best for you if you continued doing tests,” Iwaizumi advised. “If you had something changed for the worst, it could harm you in the future.”

“Possibly kill you,” Oikawa added.

Shouyou frowned, looking between them. “That’s…not very reassuring.”

“It’s the hard truth.” Oikawa shrugged. He seemed to be doing better in subtle ways; smiling more, his expression less tired, his movements lithe and graceful instead of fatigued. Shouyou wasn’t sure if that was _actually_ from curing him or if it was just the relief of knowing he had been cured. He wondered just how much of Oikawa’s improvement was only a placebo effect.

“We don’t have to be the ones looking into it, since I doubt you want to stay here longer than necessary,” Iwaizumi said. “But you need to have _someone_ doing it. Maybe hire a witch doctor meant for this kind of stuff. Do whatever you think is best.”

Iwaizumi also seemed to be better, almost just as well as he was before all of this. But there were scars, puncture wounds, on his neck and shoulders and arms that Shouyou couldn’t bring himself to look at. The guilt burnt hotter every time he saw them. Oikawa had similar ones, but they were smaller, less prominent; it was Iwaizumi who’d gotten the brunt of it, and now they pulsed out of his skin as another reminder of what happened.

Kageyama shifted next to Shouyou, his hand brushing against Shouyou’s softly. It was hard to tell if that was intended or an accident, but Shouyou took the initiative anyway and grabbed Kageyama’s hand before settling it between the two of them comfortably. They were in Kenma’s makeshift hospital room, sitting on the floor because the rest of the seats had been taken, discussing the aftermath of…all of this.

Kuroo wanted to leave, and Shouyou didn’t really blame him. He was standing near Kenma, a hand on his shoulder or tugging at his wrist at any given moment. Shouyou couldn’t blame him for that either; the first hour after, he hadn’t been able to stop touching Kenma in shock. Shouyou figured it’d take him a while to get used to Kenma’s new body, but for now he had forced himself to take a step away and give him space with Kuroo.

“A witch doctor,” Daichi repeated. “You really think that would help?”

“It’d be better than doing nothing.”

“I could be fine,” Shouyou piped up. He raised his and Kageyama’s joined hand as he spoke, waving it around. “I mean, you said we don’t _know_. What if nothing actually happened to me after that?”

“I highly doubt _nothing_ happened. You don’t get off scotch free after coming a step away from godhood,” Oikawa said.

“So we’ll see a doctor. It’s not that big of a deal,” Sugawara said. “We can handle it if there’s something wrong. We appreciate your advice, Iwaizumi. It’ll be fine.”

Iwaizumi shrugged like he didn’t care either way, arms crossed over his chest tightly and shoulders squared, and didn’t say anything else on the subject. It was…tense, being with Aoba Johsai in a way that wasn’t inherently hostile. Shouyou wasn’t sure if they were supposed to suddenly be friendly now that he and Kenma had saved Oikawa’s life, or if the cost of Iwaizumi’s pain had been enough to keep it antagonistic. Some part of him wanted to leave as soon as they could and get Kageyama as far away from here as he could, in fear that Oikawa might change his mind or go back on his word.

The other part remembered Oikawa’s admittance. The stories he told Shouyou while Shouyou was losing a part of himself, the things he’d shared with Kageyama and admitted he wanted to share again. The regret, the guilt. The lying and the belief that it was for Kageyama’s own good. And then what, if Kageyama found out the truth after all these years? Would it make a difference at this point? And if he found out Shouyou knew, what then?

They stayed at Aoba Johsai for another night. Kenma and Shouyou shared a room, but it wasn’t long in the night before Kuroo visited them, then Sugawara, then Kageyama, and finally Daichi all gathered in one room. It was a good thing the bedroom was the size of a small house.

Shouyou didn’t say it, but he understood why everyone wanted to be together. It was the first night since Kenma and Shouyou had woken up, the first night everyone knew they wouldn’t die in their sleep. They all missed each other, and Shouyou was no exception. Karasuno, for all its flaws, knew how to make connections, how to build families, and Shouyou was certainly missing his family.

After they had all fallen asleep and it was only Shouyou still awake, he tiptoed out the room and slipped into the hallway. It was almost morning by this time, the sun just peaking over the black horizon outside the mansion’s wide, looming windows. Shouyou made his way around the building as quietly and efficiently as he could, and he was doing pretty okay, actually, until his attention was caught as he was passing a foyer and wall taken up by the largest set of windows he’d ever seen. They stretched all the way to the ceiling, and when he tilted his head up to see its full expanse, it seemed to go on for miles.

That wasn’t the best part. The best part was the view, right over the cliff’s edge so the smallest sliver of ocean was visible behind the sunrise. At this hour, the water was ink black and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen.

“Having trouble sleeping?”

Shouyou jumped and almost tripped turning around, but it was only Iwaizumi. He was dressed as if ready for the day and holding two cups of coffee, one almost black, the other nearly white with creamer. Shouyou glanced between him and the cups, then back out the window again.

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” he said, laughing sheepishly. “I was trying to find the kitchen, but I keep getting lost, and the sun was too pretty not to look at.”

Iwaizumi hummed in agreement and turned to look out the window too. They watched the sunrise together in silence for a moment, but the quiet grew too palpable, and Shouyou was still having a hard time looking at Iwaizumi.

He blurted, “Are you going to try to get rid of them?”

To Iwaizumi’s credit, he didn’t seem at all surprised by the sudden question. “Get rid of what?”

“The scars.” Shouyou nodded to his hands, each curved around the mugs’ handle, dark skin blotched in pink and white circular scars, each ranging from the size of pinpricks to that of pennies. Shouyou’s eyes followed the pattern from his hands up his arms, where the marks only got worse. His stomach churned, and he looked back to the sunrise quickly.

“There’s not much point,” Iwaizumi said. “I’m not ashamed of them. And why would I get rid of those when I’ve never done the same for any other scar? I’d spend the rest of my life trying to get rid of them if I did that, and even then, I would only get more. There’s no point.”

Shouyou fought the urge to fidget nervously. “Oh.”

Iwaizumi sighed softly. He nodded towards the hallway Shouyou had come down. “Let me show you where the kitchen is.”

Quietly, Shouyou followed him. Once there, Iwaizumi set the cups down on the counter and pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. Shouyou stood back and watched Iwaizumi flip on the stove, unsure if he could ask or if he was supposed to be talking to Iwaizumi at all. Iwaizumi didn’t say anything, and Shouyou fidgeted where he stood.

The silence was just starting to get to him when Iwaizumi said, turned away from Shouyou as he cracked an egg into a cup, “You still feel bad about hurting me.”

It was phrased as a statement, a matter of fact. Shouyou let out a breath between a sigh and a huff and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He didn’t answer, but it was clear Iwaizumi hadn’t meant it as a question.

“Even though you were protecting yourself, you still feel bad about it,” Iwaizumi continued.

“I wasn’t protecting myself.”

“You’re not used to situations like this,” he said, turning around from the counter to look at Shouyou, holding the cup in one hand. He scrambled the egg yolk with a fork as he spoke. “I don’t blame you for being…shocked, or traumatized by it. The first time hurting someone is always the worst. But it’s stupid to get caught up in your own guilt, especially when I’m standing here telling you there isn’t a reason to feel guilty. I’ve hurt people a lot worse for a lot less. I’m sure Daichi could tell you the same.”

“No, you don’t under _stand_ —I wasn’t—“ Shouyou ran his hands through his hair. “I wasn’t _protecting_ anyone!”

Iwaizumi frowned. “Hinata—“

“No, it wasn’t—it wasn’t to keep you guys from hurting anyone, it was because _I_ wanted to hurt you! Me and Kenma, when we were like that…we wanted…to hurt Oikawa, really badly. Worse than anything he’d ever felt. For some reason, we really wanted to hurt him…”

“And that meant hurting me.”

Shouyou nodded. He couldn’t meet Iwaizumi’s eye.

“He did so many bad things to Kageyama,” Shouyou admitted. “It’s been years, but Kageyama is still really affected by it, and I remember, the first time he told me about Oikawa, I was…really angry. That someone did that. And then I met Oikawa and it got—confusing, ‘cause he was going to hurt me and Kenma and he _did_ , but then when we were trying to heal him he started telling us all these stories about you and Kageyama. And I felt bad for him, even though I shouldn’t have. But the bad got mixed up somewhere, and even though I wanted to get rid of his curse and help him, I also wanted to do that to you, to make him feel…”

“The way that Kageyama did?” Iwaizumi offered gently. When Shouyou didn’t answer, he offered again, “The way that you do?”

In his cooking, Iwaizumi had put the mugs he’d previously held in a microwave, and the microwave beeped now, tearing into their conversation. It broke whatever atmosphere had allowed Shouyou to share that with a member of Seijou, and he rushed to say, “This is all really stupid. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“Because I’m a part of Aoba Johsai?”

“Yeah. We’re enemies.”

“Are we?”

Shouyou frowned, pausing. “You kill and steal and hurt people for a living. You’re in the _mafia_.”

“I’m also a person,” Iwaizumi said.

“A bad person.”

“Believe that if you want to. I won’t argue with you on that. Do you believe in Hell, Hinata?”

“Um…I guess. I don’t know.”

“I don’t have any doubts that I’m going there,” Iwaizumi continued. “At this point, even if I were to repent and spend the rest of my days doing good and living an honest life, I’m not sure that would make up for what I’ve already done. But I don’t hold ill will towards you or Karasuno. Neither does Oikawa.”

He pushed off from the counter and strode across the kitchen to the microwave to get the mugs out. Shouyou chewed on what he’d heard.

“Aoba Johsai won’t get involved with Karasuno again,” Iwaizumi promised. “Now that Oikawa is fine, there’s no reason left to contact any of you. So long as you don’t try to get in our way, we’ll stay out of yours.”

“We won’t see any of you ever again after this?”

“If we’re lucky.”

Iwaizumi pulled a pan down and placed it on the stove. Shouyou watched him butter it and pour the egg yolk into the pan, sizzling as it went, the noise a substitute for Shouyou’s response. He didn’t say anything for a long time; he only watched Iwaizumi finish making breakfast.

When it was done, Iwaizumi slid a plate across the counter towards Shouyou—scrambled eggs and toast. Shouyou’s eyes widened, and he looked up to Iwaizumi, who only gestured towards it.

“Eat. I promise it’s not poisoned.”

Shouyou remembered Iwaizumi saying the same thing what felt like months ago, and reveled in the difference between then and now. The memory served as a reminder of the reality of Iwaizumi, what he had been saying earlier about going to hell.

Iwaizumi held out a fork for Shouyou to take. Hesitantly, he did.

“Right now I have no reason to act as your enemy. Take that as you will,” Iwaizumi said. He prepared another plate of food and, along with the two mugs, balanced it in his hands before starting towards the kitchen door. On his way out, he stopped.

“Stop beating yourself up about the scars,” he said. “I’ve accepted them. You need to, too.”

 

\--

 

They left Aoba Johsai as soon as everyone was awake. Kuroo and Kenma had to scry back to Karasuno because there wasn’t enough room to all drive back in the car; Matsukawa helped them prepare the bowls and get set up, but other than that, no one at Aoba Johsai seemed to notice either their presence or their leaving. Iwaizumi and Oikawa said nothing when they left, but as they were piling into the car, Shouyou in the backseat with Kageyama, he thought he saw Iwaizumi looking out the window.

Some deeper part of Shouyou protested silently as they left. He knew they would never see Iwaizumi or Oikawa again, and that part of him still wanted answers, still wanted to _know_. On the outside, he breathed a sigh of relief and leaned into Kageyama, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. It was comforting in light of the weight that settled on Shouyou’s chest, the deep sadness that meant he knew something was ending. It was ending.

“Shouyou,” Kageyama whispered in his ear. Shouyou only nodded. They didn’t need to speak any more than that, only resting against each other as the ocean disappeared behind them and the landscaped slowly transformed into something recognizable.

 

\--

 

It was weird no longer having Kenma around him all the time.

Not to say that Kenma left, or that he wasn’t _around_. It was just—Shouyou wasn’t used to seeing him interact with other people, seeing him walk out the door without fear of getting too far away from him. They still slept in the same room, partially because there wasn’t a lot of space in Karasuno’s farmhouse, partially because they wanted to be close again—at least, that was what Shouyou’s reason was, and he could tell that it was Kenma’s too.

Being separated was hard. It felt a little like having a part of himself ripped away. He loved Kenma and loved that he was _alive_ and couldn’t have been happier, but still, it did something to him when he realized they weren’t like they _were_ anymore, and hopefully never would be again. Those days were over, but they couldn’t help gravitating to each other out of habit.

It seemed a lot of “those days” were over. Kuroo’s relationship with Karasuno was still tense, undeniably so, but with Kenma back, he had seemed to mellow out some. Shouyou could imagine that this was the original Kuroo, the one that Kenma grew up beside and fell in love with, not the angry, vengeful one that had reigned for so many years. This Kuroo sauntered everywhere and made sly comments to Shouyou and Kenma about Tsukishima’s attitude or Nishinoya’s bedhead, wasn’t scared to joke around with the other members of Karasuno and laugh when something was too stupid _not_ to laugh at. He grinned a lot now.

Shouyou wondered what Bokuto and Akaashi would think, then wondered if he would ever see them again, either.

It was a few weeks after they’d all returned to Karasuno that Kenma came to Shouyou with news. The day after they all got back, Daichi had brought a doctor in to Karasuno to run tests on Shouyou. They were still trying to see if anything had changed, making thorough work that they hadn’t missed something or let a crucial piece of information slip through the cracks. If they weren’t careful, Sugawara reminded him, there was always the chance it would be fatal. Shouyou had dealt with enough death already, so he went along with the tests, breathed in and out when told to, and tried his best to relay what happened with Kenma in case that would do anything to help. The tests were daily at first, then bi-weekly. His doctor, a man named Takeda, was friends with Sugawara, and stayed at Karasuno for the time being. (Shouyou had a sneaking suspicion that Takeda had been Sugawara’s own, personal doctor back when he was part of Corvus, but he didn’t voice that guess, and he didn’t ask.)

It was during one of these tests that Kenma came into the room, leaning against the doorway. He did that a lot now, maybe because he finally could. Shouyou was hooked up to some equipment that he didn’t quite understand the purpose of, but when Takeda tried to explain it to him it was only a mush of magic-y, science-y nonsense that he tuned out. Now, it beeped something at Takeda, who scribbled a number down on a sheet of paper and turned some kind of knob. Shouyou waved at Kenma from where he sat on a counter.

“What’s up?” he asked. Kenma had that look about him that meant there was something on his mind, something important. The witch—and how great it felt to no longer think of him as a ghost—pushed off from the doorframe and made his way into the room. He stood in front of Shouyou, eying the machine warily.

“Excuse me,” he said to Takeda instead of answering Shouyou’s question. He spoke softly, like he was afraid of coming off as rude. “When do you think you’ll be done?”

Takeda hummed in consideration. Takeda was the type of man that hummed like that a lot. He was short, which made Shouyou feel better about his own height, with dark brown hair, glasses, and a young face, despite being in his thirties. He was a witch from what Shouyou had gathered.

“Another ten minutes,” he guessed.

Kenma nodded. He tapped Shouyou’s knee gently. “Meet me in the animal tents.”

“Okay!”

He disappeared the way he’d come, and even though Shouyou knew he was alive, there was still something otherworldly about him. Maybe he’d been like that before he’d died, too. Shouyou wished he knew.

Takeda finished his tests and released Shouyou to the animal tents. When he got there, Kenma was sitting on the ground and stroking Bennu’s feathers lightly with one hand, the other in his lap. That was another thing that changed: Kenma didn’t seem to mind being with the animals now. He still shied away when Orthrus barked at him, but he no longer looked so afraid. He and Bennu got along pretty well, actually.

Shouyou watched them for a few moments, the way Kenma touched the phoenix like he was afraid of hurting it, or maybe like he wasn’t so sure his hand would make contact with anything at all. That must have been a fear of his, Shouyou thought. That maybe one day he would wake back up as a ghost again, like coming back to life had never happened.

Kenma turned his head to Shouyou and blinked at him. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Shouyou sat down next to Kenma, and Bennu fluttered slightly in surprise at a new visitor. It squawked at him, but he only laughed and held out his hand to stroke its beak. It sat still while he did, silently letting him.

Kenma hadn’t said anything, so Shouyou finally asked, “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Kuroo and I might be leaving,” he said. “We don’t know for sure. We’re thinking about it. I thought you should know.”

Somewhere, Shouyou had known that would happen eventually. But knowing distantly to expect it wasn’t the same as _actually_ expecting it, and he sucked in a breath like he’d been punched, knocked off guard.

“Oh,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else.

Kenma studied him, not saying anything, and even though Shouyou could feel those eyes on him, he didn’t meet Kenma’s gaze, only stroking Bennu’s feathers gently. Bennu stayed still for him in quiet permission.

“Shouyou?”

“Yeah?”

“We don’t know when yet,” Kenma said, instead of pushing or asking if Shouyou was okay. Shouyou appreciated that. “Everything is still…up in the air. I just wanted you to be the first to know.”

“So Daichi doesn’t know yet?”

“No, not yet.”

Shouyou nodded. Bennu looked at him, affronted because he’d stilled in stroking its feathers, and leaned into him as if to ask he continue. The action brought a smile to his face, and he relented. Shouyou had forgotten, with everything else going on, just how content he was with his place here at Karasuno, how much he loved _everything_ here. His new family, the animals, the shows. Eating breakfast in the dining room every morning, pressed sleepily up to Kageyama with Kenma on his other side; falling asleep at night after a day of working with Yachi and doing chores around the house. They would be starting up performances again soon, Daichi said. Now that things were falling back into routine, they’d be able to put on more shows. And with shows, Daichi said, they would start training Shouyou to be a part of them. He’d partner with Kageyama once he was ready.

Shouyou was more than excited for this dream, but knowing that Kenma wouldn’t be in it dulled his happiness. Kenma was a part of his family too.

“I’m happy for you,” he said, forcing a smile.

Kenma paused, looking at him solemnly for a long moment. “You don’t have to be. It’s okay to be sad about it.”

“I know it is,” Shouyou assured, “but I am happy. I know that you want to be together, and I don’t really blame Kuroo for not wanting to stay here. I’ve had you for the past fifteen years, I think I can handle letting him steal your attention for a few too.”

“We’ll visit.”

“Would Kuroo be okay with that?”

Kenma shrugged. He looked at Bennu, holding out his hand for the bird to nudge curiously. They sat for a moment, both watching the phoenix and not saying anything. Shouyou really didn’t blame either of them for wanting to get away, and he definitely wouldn’t blame Kuroo if he never wanted to see Karasuno again. Still, Shouyou wasn’t sure how he was going to go without Kenma like that for so long. Just knowing he was leaving had torn a hole in his chest somewhere. What would he do when Kenma was _actually_ gone?

“We’ll figure it out,” Kenma said quietly.

Shouyou sighed. “Yeah, I hope so.”

 

\--

 

“Hinata?”

Shouyou stopped where he was talking to Yamaguchi, turning to Asahi. Asahi stood in the doorway of the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Daichi asked me to get you.”

The tone in his voice was serious, although not particularly nervous. Shouyou frowned but jumped off from his place on the counter, offering a quick apology to Yamaguchi before following Asahi into Daichi’s office.

Daichi was at his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back and chewing on his lip, while Sugawara and Takeda stood across from his desk. Takeda was shuffling some papers in his hands and fumbling to push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, while Sugawara was biting his thumb. They all turned to him as he entered.

“What’s all this about?” he asked, not liking the expression on anyone’s face. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s… _wrong_ ,” Takeda answered. He set the papers on Daichi’s desk. “But there is something I need to discuss with you. About, uh, the tests.”

“The tests?”

He nodded. “You know we’ve been doing some that are more all-encompassing?”

“Yeah, I remember.” How could Shouyou forget? They’d started testing him for pretty much _everything_. It was a whole bunch of procedures he didn’t like, all for basically any disease possible, checking far past just his vitals in hopes that if something, even something tiny, had changed, they’d be able to find it. It was very time consuming, sometimes painful, and probably super expensive. He didn’t know for sure how Karasuno was paying for everything, but he didn’t want to ask.

“Well, I think I may have found something.”

“Something?”

“Something different.”

Shouyou’s eyebrows raised. Daichi gestured for him to come further into the room, waving him over to a chair. Asahi stood a few feet behind, not sitting but not leaving the room.

“You might want to sit too,” Takeda told Asahi. “That is, if you want to be here for this conversation. It might end up being a long one.”

Hesitantly, Asahi sat next to Suga. They exchanged looks that didn’t get past Shouyou, and Suga set a comforting hand on Asahi’s knee as if to calm him. Everyone acting like this certainly wasn’t making Shouyou feel any _less_ nervous about this “news.”

“So you found something,” he said. “What was it? Is it—is it bad?”

“No, not bad, per se. Just…not what we were expecting,” Takeda explained. He picked the papers back up from Daichi’s desk, handing them over to Shouyou. Shouyou pretended to study them, even though all the numbers and medical jargon made absolutely no sense to him. Takeda’s handwriting didn’t help.

“Can someone just explain what’s up?” Shouyou said.

Daichi exchanged a look with Takeda before nodding. “Of course. Takeda-san?”

“Right. Well, you’re a shapeshifter,” he started. “And since there’s little concrete information about shapeshifters, especially biology wise, there would normally be no way to know for certain that this isn’t a normal part of your development instead of a side effect of your time with Kenma. But seeing as it hadn’t shown up in tests prior to the one this past week, I think it might be okay to assume, at least for now, that this is an unnatural change.”

“Okay,” Shouyou said slowly. “So what’s ‘this’?”

“You have the gene for decreased aging. The same kind found in vampires and most spirits. And seeing as you’ve aged at a normal speed up until now, it seems to be an effect of your time bonded with a monster that didn’t age at all.”

Shouyou hadn’t had much time to think of what the “effects” of being with Kenma would be, partially because he’d been so busy with training since coming back and partially because he didn’t _want_ to worry about it. But the few times he’d theorized about what could have changed, if anything, he hadn’t even come close to imagining this was what he’d take away.

He looked at the faces of the rest of Karasuno with him. No one seemed sure how to respond.

“Oh,” he said. “So. I’m not, like—dying?”

Takeda shook his head. “No, not dying. You’re fine outside of this—completely healthy, with nothing else out of order. No tests for any other ‘foreign’ genes came up positive. And from what I can tell, it won’t affect you in any other way than, well, aging slowly. Your mental development might have a hard time adjusting at first, but other than that, you should be fine.”

Shouyou looked at the papers he still held, trying to decipher Takeda’s chicken scratch and the printed numbers long enough to understand them. “Oh. I’d say that’s pretty good then.”

“We understand if this is…” Daichi paused when Shouyou looked up at him. “If this is difficult for you. Adjusting to a change like that won’t be easy. It wasn’t for me, emotionally and physically, but I’m here to help you through it if you need me.”

“We’re sure this is, like, a permanent thing?”

Takeda pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I guess in theory, no, but I don’t see how something like that could just disappear. The circumstances that got you here aren’t exactly normal, so unless something like that happened again, I don’t imagine it’ll be going away. I’m sorry, Hinata.”

“I’m not dying,” Shouyou said. “And you said I’m completely healthy outside of that, right? So there’s nothing to be sorry about. I’ve adjusted to worse. I’ll be okay.”

Sugawara eyed him, confused. “You’re taking this awfully well for someone who just found out a fundamental part of themselves has changed.”

Shouyou grinned. “My whole _thing_ is change, remember? And besides, if I’m still gonna live, I’ll manage. Don’t worry about me.”

“That’s good then.” Takeda smiled at him, taking the papers back when Shouyou offered them to him. “I’ll be staying here for a few more weeks to monitor you and make sure nothing strange happens. Although, I don’t imagine we’ll be seeing any changes for a while.”

“Thank you so much for everything,” Daichi said sincerely. Shouyou nodded in agreement.

“Of course. I’m happy to help.”

 

\--

 

After a few more minutes of conversation, Shouyou left Daichi’s office and found his way to the gym. Kageyama was there when Shouyou arrived, doing some complicated flips on a balance beam. He landed perfectly each time, and Shouyou couldn’t help but clap when he was done.

“Shouyou!” Kageyama almost lost his balance in his surprise. He caught himself from falling last minute and glared at his boyfriend when rebalanced.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Shouyou made his way across the room, coming to stand near Kageyama. He kept distance between them, though, so he would be out of the way for Kageyama to continue warming up. “You’re so good at this. I don’t get how you do it without being scared you’re gonna fall.”

Kageyama was silent for a moment, and Shouyou watched as he walked across the beam and back to his starting position with ease, one foot in front of the other. He always looked the most comfortable when he was working out or on stage. Shouyou wasn’t sure what it was, but Kageyama was in his element there.

Ever since returning to Karasuno, Kageyama had been different. Not a bad different, but…different. He was…calmer. Less anxious, less easily riled up—less angry. He didn’t necessarily crack jokes with Nishinoya and Tanaka, but he laughed at theirs, and when Tsukishima made snide comments, he let more of them go. He’d looked happier too, smiling more, his signature scowl becoming more distant. It had only been a month, but already he seemed to be doing better than even before all of this with Oikawa happened.

He finally had closure.

“When I first came to Karasuno,” Kageyama said, after he’d caught his breath from a particularly intensive move, “and Daichi was still training me, I always thought I was going to fall. I wanted to be an acrobat, but I didn’t want to take the steps to get there because I was afraid.”

It was such a contrast to the Kageyama that he knew now, the one that thrived when in the air, but Shouyou could still picture that: a tiny, newly-scarred, thirteen-year-old Kageyama fumbling around on the beam, sticking with the basics at first because he didn’t want to get into the more dangerous things.

Shouyou asked, “What made you change your mind?”

“I saw my first show,” Kageyama said. “Daichi was both the announcer and a performer then, and he was a trapeze swinger along with Suga and Asahi. He looked happy up there, comfortable, and it was obvious he’d been doing that his whole life and that he wasn’t afraid. Even though he was a hundred feet off the ground and he could’ve died if he fell, he just kept the routine. He didn’t once look down. That’s when I knew I wanted to stay here.”

Shouyou hummed at the story. Every time Kageyama talked like this, opened himself up more, even with something as small as this, Shouyou fell just a little bit more in love with him.

“Now,” Kageyama said, “I just don’t look down.”

 

\--

 

“Where do you want to live?”

“I don’t know. I think he wants to stay close to Akaashi and Bokuto, though.”

“Don’t they move around?”

“They do, but we’d stay near one of their safe houses.”

“Maybe they’d let you stay with them until you can find a place near them.”

“Maybe. I want to stay here with you as long as we can, though. But even if we find one place to settle down in, we’ll be moving around…maybe a lot. Kuroo’s body is still messed up. He gave up trying to fix it the first few years after I died, but he can’t stay like this forever, so we’ve decided we’re going to keep looking for a way to cure him.”

“That’s good! I’m surprised you got him to agree to that.”

“…I think he used to feel like there was no reason in trying to cure himself after I died, and that was why he gave up so easily. But…”

“He’s got a reason to live now, right?”

“I guess so. I…I hope so.”

“…Kenma?”

“Hm?”

“About what you said the other day. About how I don’t need to be happy that you and Kuroo are leaving Karasuno just because it’s what you want to do for yourself.”

“Oh…what about it?”

“I think you’re right that I don’t _have_ to be happy that you’re leaving. And I can’t say I’m not a little torn up about it, but I really am happy that you’re gonna live with Kuroo. I mean, I want you to stay with us because I’ll miss you and I love you and I’ve never been without you for that long, but…I want _you_ to be happy. You and him. Both of you deserve that.”

“You deserve to be happy too, Shouyou.”

“I _am_ happy. Don’t worry about me.”

“…If you’re sure.”

 

\--

 

Kenma and Kuroo left a month later.

Karasuno relocated the same day. As they were packing up, Shouyou tried not to think about what it meant—at least not in a bad way. He told himself it was what Kenma wanted, it was best for both him and Kuroo, that it was going to happen eventually and it was better that it happen soon anyway. But that, on top of the sudden move for Karasuno when they’d stayed put the past two months for recovery, was just a little too much for Shouyou at once. He could admit that he cried, but only because Kenma seemed like he was about to, too.

At the door, Kuroo and Kenma stood awkwardly with luggage in their hands (courtesy of Daichi’s generosity and the clothes for Kenma that Shouyou could spare). Kenma had already said his goodbyes to Shouyou a hundred times over the past month, but the two couldn’t seem to stop. Kuroo, however, didn’t seem to know what to do. He offered a hand for Shouyou to shake politely, but Shouyou pulled him into a tight hug the last second.

“Take care of him,” Shouyou said. Even with Kuroo crouching, Shouyou had to stand on his tip toes to get his arms around Kuroo’s neck.

Kuroo nodded, and they pulled away. “I will. Thank you.”

“For what?”

He shrugged. “For being such a good friend to Kenma. And for understanding why we’re doing this. I know this is hard on you.”

“It’d probably be harder on _you_ if you had to choose between staying with Karasuno any longer and leaving Kenma,” Shouyou said, smiling. It wasn’t forced, although maybe it should have been; he’d definitely been teary-eyed earlier, but now he couldn’t find it in himself to bring that up again. He really was happy for them.

Shouyou pulled Kenma in for one last hug before they had to leave. Shimizu was waiting in a rental car to take them to the outskirts of town before they would meet up with Bokuto and Akaashi somewhere, and they didn’t want to keep Shimizu waiting too long. At first, Shouyou had insisted on driving with them, but Kenma had quietly shot the idea down. He said he didn’t want to make it any harder on them than it needed to be. If they dragged it out, it would only hurt more. As they hugged for the millionth time, Shouyou couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that, even with their attempts, they’d still managed to drag it out.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Shouyou said. “For Kuroo.”

Kenma nodded. “I hope we do too.” He paused. “I love you.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud. Shouyou knew that they loved each other, had known for years now, but hearing it confirmed made his eyes sting.

He smiled. “I love you too.”

 

\--

 

Shouyou had wanted a family for as long as he could remember.

It wasn’t a conscious desire; more of something that had built up underneath the skin with every picturesque family presented to him on TV, every foster home he was taken into, every child in his orphanage who got adopted before him. He didn’t lie awake at night thinking about how badly he wanted a home, a place to call his, a family—it was a quiet longing. One that he didn’t realize was there until he got what he had wanted so badly. The list of Things Shouyou Knows For Sure went like this:

 

  1. Shouyou was sixteen.
  2. Shouyou was a shapeshifter.
  3. Shouyou was a part of Karasuno.



 

The night before another of Karasuno’s performances, there was a party. It wasn’t as big as their Christmas party or any of their birthday parties, but it was fun, with Shouyou helping Asahi prepare dinner, Yachi laughing so hard she snorted soda out of her nose, Tanaka coercing Sugawara into dancing with him, and Saeko sneaking in what alcohol she could get with Akiteru. High spirits everywhere. Shouyou couldn’t remember ever laughing as hard as he did that night.

During the party, he’d shifted per Nishinoya’s request. It had started out only with Nishinoya’s curiosity and slowly turned into a game, where everyone would name a creature and Shouyou would see if he could shift into it. It ended well into the night and only when Shouyou was too tired to shift anymore; Kageyama insisted everyone stop pushing Shouyou too hard, and that had led to some teasing comments, mostly from Tanaka and Tsukishima.

Later on, when it was nearing the odd hours of the morning and everyone was finally settling into bed, there was a sound at Shouyou’s door. He pulled himself from the space between awake and asleep and got up to answer. It wasn’t a surprise to see Kageyama on the other side of the door, and instead of asking what he was doing there or what he wanted, Shouyou motioned for him to come inside and crawled back into bed.

Kageyama closed the door and crawled into bed behind Shouyou. Silently, they moved towards each other, sharing body heat, and didn’t say anything. Kageyama offered no explanation and Shouyou demanded none; he knew the answer already. This was not an uncommon occurrence, for the two of them to want to _be_ together like this, not speaking, falling into sleep together. As much as they saw each other during the day, it wasn’t the same as being alone like this.

Shouyou nuzzled his head into Kageyama’s chest and let his eyes slip shut. Hidden behind the darkness of his eyelids, he mumbled something that sounded close to _Tobio_. Kageyama didn’t ask him to repeat himself; he only pulled Shouyou closer.

As he was falling asleep, he couldn’t help but think that this was what it felt like to be home. Wrapped up with somebody he loved, warm. Safe. Tired from a day of being with his family, doing what he loved. In his closet, hidden behind his every day clothes, was the blue uniform he’d been given last Christmas. One day soon, he would take it out, don it with a mask so characteristic of Karasuno, and be on that stage too. He would fly in front of everyone, with the people he trusted most in the world at his side.

Shouyou was home.

 

\--

 

When he woke, his muscles ached, his body protested movement, and when he tried to shift later in the day he found that he was too sore too. Still, he didn’t regret agreeing to the game. There was a sort of liberation that came from having others fawn over his ability; it blocked out any leftover shame, any bad feelings he would’ve had otherwise about who he was. Treating his abilities as a commodity instead of something dangerous or weird always made him feel better. Although not one hundred percent there yet, Shouyou had gotten a lot more accepting of himself in the past year since joining Karasuno.

He forwent the alcohol during the party, but he still went through the morning feeling different. The day before performances were always like this—exciting, changed. It didn’t matter how many times he’d seen the show, how many times they’d run through the same thing getting it just right, how many times he’d watched the big top fill with chattering audience members. No matter what, he was always this excited. He always felt a little bit changed before opening night.

Maybe some of it was because he knew what it would entail soon, he thought as he helped Hitoka get the animals ready for the night. He’d been training with Nishinoya and Kageyama for a little over eight months now. He was nowhere near ready to participate in anything as extreme as what they did during shows, but…eventually, he would get there.

Orthrus nudged his hand with one of her muzzles, vying for his attention. He turned to her, pulled out his thoughts, and took the moment to pet each individual head. It didn’t feel right not to give every head the same attention.

Behind him, he felt Hitoka moving, and he heard her soothing one of the white tigers quietly, talking to it. “You’re okay,” she told the animal. “Don’t you want to go show everyone what you’re so good at? I know you like to show off.”

Sometimes it slipped Shouyou’s mind, just how good with the animals Yachi was. Since deciding to pursue being an acrobat, Shouyou’s time with the animals had been cut in half, and he would’ve felt guilty about leaving Hitoka to take care of them herself again if it weren’t for how genuinely happy she was. No wonder she’d gone so long taking care of them on her own.

“How do you think the night’s gonna go?” Shouyou asked. Orthrus had finally stopped trying to get him to continue petting her, so he turned towards Hitoka, leaning against Orthrus’s side lightly.

“You mean with the show?”

He nodded.

She thought about it. “I guess the same as it always does. Why? Do you think something bad’s going to happen?”

“No, of course not! Nothing like that,” he assured her. “I mean, to be fair, it wouldn’t be _impossible_ …”

“Considering our history, no.” She smiled.

“But I meant...I don’t know. I’m just really excited for tonight. I really want everyone to do well.”

Karasuno was still recovering from that month they hadn’t performed any shows. The circus had always been a moment away from tipping over a financial ledge, but that had almost ruined them. Daichi hadn’t said anything about it at the time, seeing as there was nothing they could do to fix the situation, but Shouyou still felt the repercussions of it now. He worried, every opening night, whether they would make enough money to keep Karasuno open.

Of course, they always made enough. But it was still nerve-wracking to wait for.

“I get what you mean,” Hitoka said sympathetically. “It must be even more exciting for you, since you know that you’ll be up there someday soon.”

“Probably not _that_ soon.”

She gave him a look, but she was still smiling. “Don’t lie, Sho. I’ve heard what Nishinoya’s said about how good you’re doing. You’ll be flying in the air in no time.”

“Don’t jinx it,” he warned her, but he was smiling too.

The audience started lining up at around three in the afternoon. The line stretched across the fairgrounds, and Shouyou was pulled from helping Hitoka to helping Akiteru with stamping tickets. At six, when the sun was beginning to set and everyone was tired from standing, Shouyou went into the big top and found his seat next to Yamaguchi. He’d just sat down when the lights dimmed.

The audience fell silent, chatter disappearing as people realized what was happening. In the dark, the backdrop of the tent glowed with tiny, iridescent ovals, twinkling like stars, and a single spot light turned onto the stage. Daichi stood, mask and all, anonymous and confident and completely in his element.

Before he even said anything, Daichi waved his arm in a grand sweeping gesture, and the spotlight moved to Kageyama, Nishinoya, Tanaka, and Sugawara, who launched into their act before Daichi could introduce them. Shouyou watched, fascinated even now, as they moved, glided through the air. They were flying.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, and his voice boomed across the tent. “I’d like to personally welcome you to Karasuno, the Circus of Crows!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this project has been a Rollercoaster since chapter one but honestly it was.... so good and we're so thankful to everyone who read and kept up with this longass fic :'))
> 
> we honestly appreciate everyone whos taken the time to read (and give feedback!). it rlly did make us feel so great to see so many ppl respond to this fic. the main fic is over officially, but we still have some Loose Ideas surrounding this au so u may possibly see some tiny oneshots in the future [eyeball emoji]
> 
> other than that u can always find us on [The](http://calliopin-around.tumblr.com) [Tumblr](http://theknightofblood888.tumblr.com) and with other works on here that we'll be posting. 
> 
> so here ends our lil kagehina fic. thnk again for reading this ,.,.sfdakjk? welcome to the circus/??????????????????

**Author's Note:**

> simones [ tumblr](http://theknightofblood888.tumblr.com)  
> grays [ tumblr](http://calliopin-around.tumblr.com)


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